


the pta!voldemort fic that nobody asked for

by gaywardguide



Series: a completely unnecessary au [1]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Ever Wondered What It'd Be Like if Voldemort joined the PTA? No? Here You Go Anyways, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, Homosexuality, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mutual Pining, Passive Aggressive PTA Moms, Pining, Racism, Sick of All These Damn Teens Quirrell, Single Parent Voldemort, Slow Burn, Teacher Quirrell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywardguide/pseuds/gaywardguide
Summary: Barely registering Mu skipping on ahead of him, the pale man swallowed. Well, shit, he thought.Because this was so not fucking fair.Since when were high school teachers this goddamn hot? Scratch that, since when did Dumbledore hire people who weren’t due to be shipped off to a senior home in a year or two? When Voldemort went to Hogwarts the youngest member of the staff had to have been fifty at the least. Shit, when Mu had said this dude was young, he thought she meant compared to other teachers! He was thinking he’d be, like, forty or something. This dude must’ve been in his twenties.(Voldemort promptly decided that this must’ve been Dumbledore’s way of getting back at him for dropping out.)





	1. ooooh fancy

**Author's Note:**

> i literally made a whole new ao3 account to post this embarrassing shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i attempt to take this story seriously and fail miserably

**✘ EPIGRAPH + PLAYLIST.**

the pta!voldemort fic that nobody asked for

a quirrellmort fic  


(i hope nobody from starkid ever reads this)  


❀ ☠ ❀

 

~~❝ _some sappy fucking poetic quote about opposites attract or some shit_ ❞~~

**~~\- person i've never heard of before~~  
**

❝ _see you in class... bitch._ ❞

**\- hugo vega, dream daddy**

 

❀ ☠ ❀

 

 _for the anthophilous english teacher,_ _and the chaotic neutral ~~dark lord~~ single dad running from his past._

 **i.** collar full by panic! at the disco

 **ii.** bloom by the paper kites

 **iii.** do i wanna know by the arctic monkeys

 **iv.** for you by angus and julia stone

 **v.** let's not pretend by crooked fingers

 **vi.** high enough by k.flay

 **vii.** hot for teacher by van halen

 **viii.** flaws by bastille

 **ix.** you're the one that i want by john travolta and olivia newton-john

 **x.** genghis khan by miike snow

 **xi.** fire escape by love, robot

 **xii.** different as can be by brian rosenthal and joe walker


	2. first meetings

**✘ CHAPTER ONE.**

october 16 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

“So first there’s English-”

“And that’s McGonagall?”

“No, McGonagall is Latin, she’s last, I think.”

Voldemort groaned. “She’s still teaching at that school? Damn, I had her when I went there.” The man was currently driving his daughter to the mid-term parent teacher conference. _Daughter_ \- shit, he’d still never get over that.

If someone had told Voldemort of ten years ago that he’d adopt a kid when he was twenty-three, he’d probably laugh so hard he’d piss himself. And who could blame him? A lot had changed in the past five years. Ever since his fall out with the Death Eaters, Voldemort had tried his best to turn his life around. And it actually wasn’t that hard- despite his fearsome reputation and all the shit that everyone was _pretty sure_ he did, he’d never actually gotten caught. So, within a year he found himself with an excitable little eight-year old girl and no clue how to be a parent.

(In his defense, he figured he was doing pretty good, considering he had nothing to go on himself. The closest thing he’d had to a father was Dumbledore, who he hadn’t spoken to since he’d dropped out in eleventh grade after reuniting with his family, who turned out to be a bunch of cunts who were also pretty bad at giving Christmas gifts.)

Sure, there had been a few… _stumbles_ at first, but he liked to think the kid turned out pretty great. She was creative and funny and brave and smart as hell- she even skipped sixth grade. Sure, she was a bit (okay, a lot) mischievous and tended to punch first, ask questions after, which (when combined with her intolerance for bullies) led to a lot of angry phone calls home, black eyes and rich white suburban moms shrieking about lawsuits, but she was nowhere near as bad as he had been.

“English is Mr. Quirrell,” Mu continued. Voldemort wrinkled his nose. _What the hell kind of name is that?_ “He’s one of my favorites, I think. He’s, like, really young-” Okay, so by high school teacher standards that meant this dude was probably in his fifties- “But super smart! He has a bunch of awards on his desk and stuff. He also seems really shy and was, like, super awkward with us in the beginning and didn’t talk a whole lot and when he did he kinda stuttered, but he’s warmed up to us! Oh, and he seems really sweet but he can be kine of an asshole-”

“Language,” Voldemort half-heartedly admonished, flashing his middle finger at a mini-van who cut him off.

Mu ignored him. “-but, like, in a passive aggressive way and only when the kids deserve it. Like, one time this jock fell asleep in class-”

Voldemort cut his daughter off again as the high school entered his view. “Okay, enough about this Squirrel guy. Who comes after him?”

Mu began counting on her fingers. “Um, Mr. Binns, who does history- I’m pretty sure he falls asleep in class more than we do. Ms. Sinistra is Science, she’s alright… then Mrs. Vector for math- _ugh_.”

“ _Ugh_?” Voldemort echoed. “Oh god. Please tell me she’s not a total bitch.”

“ _Ehhh…_ ” Mu made a hesitant noise and waved her hand around.

Voldemort groaned. “Oh, joy. Okay, at least she’s second-to-last. So, where’s this Squirrel’s classroom?”

“Quirrell,” Mu corrected, though she was grinning a bit at the nickname. “And he’s on the second floor, first door if you go up the stairs right by the lobby. Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” She paused, before eying her father sneakily. “He’s also a total bookworm. When he’s not marking or teaching he’s reading, which is a lot. It’s mostly Jane Austen, I think- actually, it might be all Jane Austen, I’m not sure.”

Voldemort hummed, eyes scanning the huge parking lot. “ _Mhm..._ "

“He also likes flowers! He has some on his desk, and some of the boys were making fun of him and calling him girly, but I think that’s dumb. They’re just flowers. So I told them to shut up and said some other stuff, and Mr. Quirrell heard even though he pretended not to and he kind of smiled I think maybe mayhaps? It was cute. He's cute. Very cute.”

Voldemort nodded absentmindedly, twisting around in his seat as he began to back the truck up.

“It also doesn’t help that there are rumours going around that he’s gay-”

The car halted suddenly, and the two of them were thrown forward slightly. Voldemort turned to look at his daughter as he turned the truck off.

“Oh no,” He scowled at her. “ _No, no, no_. No way in hell. I _know_ what you’re trying to do-”

Mu blinked at him innocently, cocking her head. “Whatever do you mean, daddy dearest?” She said in an odd accent that was probably meant to be British.

“You know.” His scowl deepened as he jabbed a finger at her. “Trying to set me up with this _pansy_ professor of yours.”

“He’s not a pansy!” Mu defended. ‘He’s pretty cute-”

Voldemort stared straight ahead and blew a long, drawn out raspberry.

“ _Daaaad_ , listen-”

The raspberry intensified.

“Dad, come _on_! I just don’t want you to be lonely…”

The raspberry trailed off and Voldemort glanced at Mu’s face, which he immediately regretted. The girl had stuck out her bottom lip ever-so-slightly, and her dark eyes seemed to have doubled in size.

“No, not the puppy dog eyes… look, stop pouting…”

Her lip began to tremble, and Voldemort’s resolve promptly broke.

“ _Okay, okay_!” Voldemort shouted, throwing his hands up. “Ah, shit. Look, kiddo-” He sighed- “I’m _fine_ , okay? I like being single.” He put on a grin that was, in his professional opinion, quite convincing and not the least bit strained. “And even if I did wanna start dating again, I’d like to think you know me better than to think I’d be into some stuffy old sissy. Jane Austen, _really_?” And then there was the fact that it’d been five years since he’d last even been on a date- he’d probably lost his game.

Mu sighed, blowing a few strands of jet-black hair out of her face. “ _Fiiiine_. But-”

“No buts!” He cut her off, before giving her a one-armed hug. “Alright, let's head in.”

They made their way into the school, and Voldemort self-consciously adjusted his plain black tee- _shit_ why’d he wear black, as if he didn’t look dead enough already, I mean his tits probably looked great but by god sometimes he forgot about his complexion- before heading in.

_Oh no._

The lobby was bustling with noise and activity, and there were tables set up here and there with plates full of snacks and a couple coffee machines, with mugs. There were maybe ten dads and about fifty moms. That made about sixty pairs of eyes, at least twenty of which immediately went to him and Mu.

Voldemort did what he always did when he felt self-conscious- he over-compensated. Putting on an air of confident, he puffed out his marvelous chest, flashing a smirk at one mom who was not particularly subtle in her gawking at the two of them. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he guided his daughter to the staircase closest to the door and the two headed up. Thankfully, while the second floor was still fairly crowded, it wasn’t nearly as busy as the lobby, and nobody seemed to pay any mind to them.

“Riiight there!” Mu pointed to the first door on the right. “We’re the first ones, yay!”

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Voldemort muttered before striding over, Mu in front of him.

As Voldemort walked into the classroom, he paused in the doorway as he was greeted with a sight that nearly made his jaw drop. Barely registering Mu skipping on ahead of him, the pale man swallowed. _Well, shit,_ he thought.

Because this was so not fucking fair.

Since when were high school teachers this goddamn hot? Scratch that, since when did Dumbledore hire people who weren’t due to be shipped off to a senior home in a year or two? When Voldemort went to Hogwarts the youngest member of the staff had to have been fifty at the least. Shit, when Mu had said this dude was young, he thought she meant compared to other teachers! He was thinking he’d be, like, _forty_ or something. This dude must’ve been in his twenties.

(Voldemort promptly decided that this must’ve been Dumbledore’s way of getting back at him for dropping out.)

And it wasn’t enough that this asshole was probably the same age as Voldemort- _oh no_. No, they just had to hire a guy with these huge fucking puppy dog eyes and- _oh shit_. Voldemort realized that Mu had started talking to him as he hovered at the entrance.

“ _...come on_ , Dad!”

As casually as he could manage, Voldemort made his way over to the messy desk in the back, where Mu had already sat on one of the chairs. The teacher was rifling through a stack of papers, brow furrowed in concentration and lip trapped between his teeth because of course this fucker bit his fat fucking lip too.

Attempting to at least _look_ like a normal, functioning adult who certainly wasn’t drooling over the cute English teacher like some hormonal teenage girl, he sat down in the seat beside Mu and leaned back, crossing his arms and manspreading more than was probably necessary.

Just as he did- almost on cue- the man tugged a paper out from the pile and set the rest down, looking up with an adorable smile and a slightly flustered look on his face.

“Alright, sorry for the wait. Let’s get started!” The godly twink announced, and _shit he even had a nice voice_. “I’m Quirinus Quirrell, and you must be Mu’s father.”

Voldemort nodded. “Yeah, I'm, uh... Voldemort. Voldemort Riddle.”

Much to his surprise, the man didn’t even raise an eyebrow, instead redirecting his attention back down to the sheet in his hands. “Okay, so let’s get into it. So, there’s really not all that much to say. Mu is…”

(Voldemort tensed up- why, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how Mu was doing. The two were pretty open with each other, so whenever he asked she had no problem being honest. He knew what she was struggling in and what she was doing alright at.)

“Doing very well!”

 _Phew_. “Yeah, I knew that!” Voldemort replied cockily, holding a fist out to his daughter, who happily met it with her own. As he did so, he winced internally. _Calm down Voldemort, don't want him thinking you're a_ total _asshole._

“While she struggles a bit with spelling and grammar, she does particularly well with the creative aspect- I often look forward to reading her short stories and such.”

Voldemort nodded, a smile tugging at his lips again. _Okay, good, this is good, talk about your kid, you can do this, be chill._ “Yeah, she’s always been a creative kid. Art, writing, music, all that _sh_ -tuff.” _Good dads don't swear, right?_

“You’re kinda into that stuff too,” Mu pointed out, before turning to Mr. Quirrell. “He does dance!”

Voldemort felt his face heat up. “ _Uh…_ ” Why was Mu bringing this up now? “That’s not really, uh, all that creative. But, yeah, I do dance.”

“Really? What kind?” Much to his surprise, Quirrell looked quite interested, leaning forward slightly.

“Uh..” Voldemort repeated dumbly. Red sirens were flashing in his head. The conversation was drifting out of the safe, comforting space of my-child-whom-I-adore and school-which-I-have-no-emotional-investment-in and moving towards the risky area of _Me, Local Vampire Asshole Who Doesn't Know How To People Good_. “Y’know, jazz, tap, ballet.” He eyed Quirrell warily. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Quirrell shook his head. “No, why would I? That kind of stuff takes a lot of skill, especially ballet. It’s quite admirable, really. Besides, you seem like the athletic type.” He coughed, ears, reddening adorably. “ _Er_ , I mean…” He glanced back down at his paper. “ _Okay_. So. Attendance is… quite good! She’s had two absences so far; not bad.”

“She’s doing better than me,” Voldemort muttered, the simple remark slipping out quietly, though oddly Quirrell seemed to take notice. 

Said man's eyes twinkled with a look of almost intrigue, and his tone softened from his Professional Teacher Voice. “What, were you a skipper?”

 _BE COOL BE COOL BE COOL._ Voldemort shrugged coolly, running a hand through his pale hair like cool people did when they were very at ease and didn't care about anything at all. “Eh. I mostly ditched during sophomore and junior year, and I never got in all that much _sh_ -trouble for it since…” He trailed off. _Since Dumbledore was basically my dad._ “Um. Anyways. Glad to see she didn’t inherit any of that.” _Yeah, nailed it!_

“Well, so am I.” Quirrell smiled, and Voldemort was really quite offended by how attractive the simple gesture was. “I never had the guts to pull any of that in high school. Not that I really wanted to, anyways. I was one of the few teenagers who actually _enjoyed_ class."

 _Fucking NERD. God he's so cute._ Voldemort cocked an eyebrow, a light smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh my god, I can see it. Let me guess, you were a total stereotypical nerd, like straight out of a bad eighties movie, suspenders and glasses and bow-ties and all. Avid LARPer and DnD enthusiast. Could recite every piece of Tolkien lore, reminded the teacher about homework every day-" _WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY ARE YOU INSULTING HIM._

Quirrell laughed, and the sound warmed Voldemort's chest. “Wow, am I that transparent? You're close. Everything but the glasses, and that last statement, which I resent- I wasn't that socially inept!" There then was a change in his expression, a bit of sheepish self-consciousness as he seemed to be brought back to the reality where he was supposed to be doing a parent teacher interview. He cleared his throat. “Now, um, speaking of social skills, Mu works exceptionally well with others. Whenever she’s put in a group, no matter who with, she really gives it her all and always makes sure the others feel included.”

(Voldemort nearly jumped out of his skin when Quirrell changed the subject; he had almost forgotten that his daughter was there.)

“That’s good,” He nodded.

“Now, for the bad…” Quirrell looked back down at the paper, chewing and lightly sucking on his lip thoughtfully, and Voldemort nearly dropped dead right there. “Really not a whole lot. Like I said, some struggles with spelling and grammar, nothing that’s really a big concern, though… there has, however, been a fair bit of chatting in class.”

Mu had the decency to look sheepish.

“...and that’s pretty much it.” Quirrell finished, leaning forward and stippling his fingers. “Now, do you have any questions or concerns?”

Voldemort blinked. Wait, it was over? _Shit,_ that was fast.

_Come on, Voldemort, think of something clever and witty to say. It’s been a while, but you’ve still got it. It's like riding a bicycle. Or something._

“Uhhh… no, I’m good.” _Fuck!_

“Alright! Well, uh…” Quirrell glanced subtly to the door, and Voldemort twisted around not-so-subtly to see a line of parents and teens waiting outside. “Please, feel free to contact me if needed- my email’s on the school site. Um…” Quirrell rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit unsure of what to do next.

Voldemort felt himself stand up. “Yeah, alright. Thanks.” He hesitated, before holding out his hand.

Quirrell hesitated too, before shaking it and smiling at him.

* * *

Voldemort observed the rest of the lobby from beside one of the tables, sipping on a cup of black coffee. Occasionally a couple moms would whisper and glance over at him, though at this point he'd learned to just ignore it.

Sighing, he spotted Mu on the other side of the lobby, probably chatting with one of her friends. He began to make his way over to her, only to pause as he caught wind of a conversation somewhere to his left.

“ _...poor girl_.”

“ _Must be so hard without a mother. Doesn’t look much for the fatherly type, either. Surely he must have a sister or someone helping out._ ”

“ _He looks familiar, too. Wasn’t he in the news a couple times? A suspect in something or other?_ ”

Voldemort stiffened as the conversation faded to hushed whispers. He glanced to the left to see a cluster of moms hovering by the hall, all now very pointedly avoiding looking at him.

Slowly, the pale man walked over to them, relishing in the sudden fidgeting of all but one of the mothers, a strawberry-blonde who had her back turned to him. The other moms were desperately trying to signal to her, but she didn’t appear to be noticing.

“She must be adopted too, poor thing,” She continued loudly. “My sister-in-law adopted three Chinese children, and were they just a handful. This one probably isn’t any better if what I’ve seen is any indication- looks particularly hard to handle, if you know what I mean.” She tittered.

“Actually, I don’t.” Voldemort said conversationally, crossing his arms and looking down at the women. “Mind explaining what exactly you’ve seen that makes you think you know anything about me or my daughter?”

While the other two women squeaked and quivered at his sudden presence, the woman speaking merely whirled around and, with a smile that was far too pleasant for Voldemort’s liking, looked up at him with her beady hazel eyes. “ _Oh_ , hello! I’m Linda Cooper, and these lovely ladies here are Barbara Walker and Karen Young.” She gestured to her two cowering blonde lackeys who's names Voldemort already forgot. Linda then looked at Voldemort expectantly.

He stared right back at her, eyebrow cocked.

Once the woman realized that she wasn’t going to be getting a name from him, she cleared her throat. “Well, Barb and Karen and I merely meant that your daughter has _quite_ the… _personality_!” Her laughter, which was accompanied by that of her groupies, failed to hide the slight curl of her lip.

Voldemort was confused. “... _Yeah_ , I’m still not catching on.”

“Well, she’s simply so… _rambunctious_ ,” the woman explained, smiling pleasantly, as if they were merely discussing the weather. “Running and jumping about, yelling and shrieking and giggling with her friends-”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Voldemort interrupted, feeling quite disgusted. “You’re acting like she was bouncing off the walls or some shit. She's an energetic kid, I guess, I don’t fucking know. She’s twelve. Why does that bug you?” Linda opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he continued ranting. “She wasn’t overdoing it or being too distracting; or at least, I don’t think so, because I don’t really _care_. And it’s not like she mows people over when she runs to greet her friends. And yelling and shrieking and shit… yeah, that’s fucking dumb. She’s just talking- a bit loudly, maybe, but so is everybody else. Is this a library? Do we all have to whisper or something? Why does her talking and laughing upset you? In fact, why do you care about any of this? It’s _my kid_.”

Linda looked at if she wanted to protest at every expletive, though actually opened her mouth at “kid”. Voldemort had to restrain himself from punching her in the face, and instead settled for merely glaring at her until she closed her mouth, only for her to open it again straight after.

“I’m simply concerned,” She said loudly, face flushing indignantly as her smile grew more strained. “About if this type of behavior occurs during class as well. If she’s as distracting in class as she is here, which I’m guessing she is, then I certainly do care if she could be hindering my child’s learning. Have you possibly thought about getting her checked out for ADHD?”

Voldemort’s jaw dropped, and he nearly shattered the coffee cup in his hand. _What the fuck?_ “What the fuck?” He said out loud, causing a few heads to turn around them. “Look, not that it’s any of your fucking business, but she’s not a ‘distraction during class’ or whatever. And where do you get off diagnosing my kid with goddamn ADHD just because she’s acting like how a kid her age should?” He demanded, voice growing louder.

Linda attempted to draw herself up to Voldemort’s height, and failed miserably. She glared at him, her smile now more of a grimace. “As a member of the Hogwarts parent-teacher association, and a _mother_ , it is my _duty_ to be concerned about-”

Voldemort interrupted her, lowering his voice and leaning in close. “ _No_. As a member of the PTA, you have more important fucking things to be worried about than my kid being a bit excitable. Just lay off, okay? Because if you think I'm pissed now, I really want you to fucking see me when I'm angry."

“Are you _threatening_ me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“SO WHAT IF I AM!” He snapped. Even more heads turned their way, and Voldemort cleared his throat and lowered his voice again, though just barely. “ _So what if I am_ , huh?”

“Well, as a member of the PTA,” She repeated, and Voldemort actually had to latch onto his thigh to stop himself from punching her. “I hold _quite_ a bit of influence around here. Trust me, mister…” She eyed him up and down, barely concealing her disdain. “ _Whatever your name is_ , I’m not the kind of person you want to be on the bad side of.” Smiling and looking quite proud of herself, Linda went to turn back to her little friends- Bella and Kacy or something- before Voldemort interrupted her.

“ _Ooh_ , PTA, I’m so scared,” He mocked, cackling. “ _Oooh_ , I’m fucking trembling. _Ha_! Piss off.”

She merely shrugged. “Well, if that’s how you’re going to be…” Linda smiled. “Well, anyhow, thank you allowing me to discuss my concerns with you! I may just bring this up with some of the other girls…" She cocked her head, looking thoughtful. "Hm, I _wonder_ how other parents will feel about some of the things you've said tonight."

Voldemort sputtered. “Y-yeah? So what?” He spat, feeling a bit childish. Then his face brightened as he had a brilliant idea. “Maybe I’ll join the PTA.” The pale-haired man said loudly, jabbing a finger in the woman’s face.

Linda laughed, and her lackeys joined in. “Please, you can’t be serious.” She noticed the look on his face, and her laughter faded. “ _Oh_. You are. Well, good luck with that.”

“I WILL!” He shouted, before whirling around. “Fuck this.” Voldemort muttered, before heading for the door.

As he exited the building, he became aware of Mu tagging along at his side. “Hey dad, what’s up?” He grumbled unintelligibly as he stalked over to the truck.

Sighing to himself, he climbed in and slammed the door as loud as he could.

Hearing the passenger door open, then close, he glanced at Mu from the corner of his eye. “Sorry, kiddo,” He muttered. “You didn’t have to follow me out. I just needed to blow off some steam out here.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Mu said dismissively. “I was just about to ask to leave too, honest. It was getting pretty boring.” She paused, before continuing. “What was going on? I heard yelling and swearing so I’m guessing you were involved.”

Voldemort snorted. “Thanks.” He said, then sighed and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Stupid fucking nosy-ass soccer moms,” He grumbled. “With their stupid fucking parent teacher association.”

“Ah,” Mu nodded her head knowingly. “Let me guess… something Cooper?”

Voldemort blinked at her. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

The dark-haired girl grinned humorlessly. “I know Billy Cooper. He’s in most of my classes.”

He squinted at her. “He a douchebag or something?”

“The douchebaggiest,” Mu confirmed. “The douchebag of the century. Lord of the douchebags. Master of baggy douches. Mr. Quirrell hates him. I think he’d toss him out the window if he wasn’t his teacher.”

Voldemort groaned playfully. “Would you shut up about that guy?” He sighed, changing the subject. “Shit, I just don’t know what to do about that bitch Linda. I wanna get back at her, but I dunno how.”

“You could join the parent-teacher association,” Mu suggested, wiggling her fingers. “Beat her at her own game.”

“I actually threatened her with that,” Voldemort shrugged, uncertain. “I dunno, though. Can you imagine me in the PTA?”

“I can and it’s hilarious,” Mu admitted. “You gotta, though! Just imagine the look on her face when you walk in.”

Voldemort considered it. “...You really think it’ll piss her off?”

“Definitely!” Mu nodded quickly. “Also, you’ll be helping the community and making the school a better place and all that jazz. But mostly the getting-revenge-on-Linda thing.”

Voldemort thought to himself. “I could,” He muttered.

“You could!”

“Should I?”

“You should.”

Voldemort nodded to himself, feeling his lips twist into a grin. “Yeah,” He said under his breath. “ _Yeah_!” He punched the air. “Fuck yeah! I’m gonna join the PTA! I’m gonna wipe that dumb smile off Linda’s face! I’m gonna… I’m gonna… shit, what do PTA moms do?”

“Insult her lemon bars?” Mu suggested cheerily.

“I’M GONNA TELL HER THAT HER LEMON BARS TASTE LIKE SHIT!” He hollered.

“Yeah!”

“I’M GONNA COMPLIMENT HER ON HER DYE JOB, WHICH SHE _THINKS_ NOBODY KNOWS EXISTS!”

“Yeah!”

“I’M GONNA SLASH THE TIRES ON HER MINIVAN!”

“ _Yea_ \- wait, no!”

“Oh, okay. _Uh_ …” Voldemort tapped his chin. “I’m gonna… I’M GONNA BE REALLY PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE!”

“ _Yeah_!” Voldemort and Mu both cheered, high-fiving.

As Voldemort started the truck, he began to formulate a plan. Yeah, he’d make Linda regret the day she _ever_ talked shit about him and his kid.

(And maybe, just maybe, he’d chat up a certain teacher in the process.)

* * *

**(Bonus)**

Just before Voldemort began to pull out of the parking spot, he glanced at his hand and swore. “Shit! The coffee cup! Have I been holding it all along?”

Mu shrugged.

Voldemort glanced back towards the school, before shrugging, too. “Meh. They probably won’t even notice.” He set it down in the cup-holder and promptly sped out of the parking lot.


	3. wow much exposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads-up: this chapter's pretty short, so the next one will be coming much sooner and will (hopefully) be a bit longer!

**✘ CHAPTER TWO.**

october 18 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

As much as he tried to deny it, there were some parts of Voldemort’s old life that he missed.

Not all of it- heck, not even _most_ of it. The kidnapping, the stealing, the arson, the countless times they'd had to escape from the cops, and the just-generally-terrorizing-society- that he doesn't quite miss. But, before all that serious shit, right after the Unmentionable Christmas and him dropping out of Hogwarts. Not when he was a seventeen year old kid who'd just lost the only family he'd ever had, who was angry at the world, angry and depressed and fucking miserable.

When Bella and Malloy came after him.

Voldemort remembered when the three of them were still best friends and had decided to rent a flat together; back when the Death Eaters weren't a full-fledged gang, but just him and his friends running around town, defacing public property and having the time of their lives; back when Voldemort had only just become Voldemort, and no longer Tom- when Voldemort had felt truly alive.

If Voldemort had to put his finger on it, he would guess he missed how they weren't afraid of anything or anybody. How they did what they wanted and when they wanted, not really caring about the laws. How they were absolutely free, free of anybody's rules or influence. Wild and free and reckless and stupidly brave like some dumb tagline from a stupid indie teen film. Yeah, they were living every teenager's dream.

And yeah, sure, they were still teens, and they were immature and fun-loving and pretty much the most illegal thing they had ever done at that point was spray-paint a dick on the mayor's house, but they were like a family- a weird, fucked up family that gets incestuous for a hot sec. If you fucked with one of them you had fucked with all of them, which was utterly unacceptable. It had been like that since they first met- three outcasts, three little losers against the world who slowly but surely beat the odds. And as they- or at least Voldemort- grew older and things changed, they never were ungrateful because if they had to be certain of one thing in this world it was that they never wanted to be on the bottom again.And even as they remained at the top, they never- or at least Voldemort didn't- lost an appreciation for what they now had. It was that very appreciation, that desire to never be a bottom-dweller again, that fear of going back to the old days when slurs and stones alike were hurled at them on the playground, that fueled their ferocity when challenged. Or some poetic shit like that.

As the Death Eaters' not-so-legal hobbies grew less and less childish, so did their methods for dealing with those who "wronged" them, and vice versa. The latter was how the kidnapping business started- first it was to set an example to the other groups on the streets, to relinquish their power. And the others, they never really meant much at first. Maybe it was a flippant remark on how Voldemort and his buddies couldn't always be running things and they'd have to step down sooner or later. A small comment, maybe, but the Death Eaters knew they couldn't risk anything. So they dealt with small comments and maybe-threats. There was never any shortage of stupid people, so they never got bored.  Bella was the best at it, and had an obsession with the art of torture that always weirded Voldemort out, even back then. For him, beating people up and whatnot was a means to an end, but for Bella, she just did it for her own weird sick little pleasure that Voldemort honestly used to be kinda into. At first they'd just give them a little spook- maybe toss them around a couple times. But then they grew more and more powerful, and more and more rich, and-

“ _Oh, hold on now, dearie, I have a coupon for that!_ ”

Voldemort blinked, promptly snapping out of his dramatic flashback. An elderly woman was standing in front of the til, waving a brightly-colored coupon in his face.

"Oh, of course," He said, baring his teeth in what he hoped resembled a smile as he took it. "Okay, so that's fifteen percent off on the milk." Glancing down at his watch, he began trying to urge the clock's hands to move faster. _Only five more minutes..._

"Fifteen?" The woman looked a bit too confused. "You mean, forty, dearie?"

"Nope. Fifteen."

"Oh," she said, frowning. "I was so sure it was forty."

"Nope, fifteen," Voldemort repeated flatly, eye twitching slightly. He flashed her the coupon. "Here. See? Fifteen. It says fifteen."

The woman squinted. "Oh, goodness me. Well, I can't read that from here, and I'm afraid I don't have my reading glasses with me. But I was so sure it was forty when I read it at home." Voldemort saw her glance at him a bit sneakily, eyes hopeful, and he groaned internally.

" _Well, you might need some new glasses, then, because it fucking_ says _fifteen,_ " Voldemort muttered through a grimace.

"Excuse me, dearie? I didn't quite catch that."

Quickly, he said, "Nothing, nothing!" as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, so the total comes to... fifty dollars and forty-seven cents."

The woman tried one last time. "Now, are you sure you're reading that right, d-"

"Yes I am... _quite_. Sure. Ma'am," Voldemort cut her off. Any other time he'd admire the old bag's tenacity, but there was two minutes left in his shift and he just wanted to get the fuck out of here already.

Voldemort waited patiently as the elderly woman _sloooowly_ got her money out of her wallet. Quickly, he snatched it up from the counter where she had dumped it. " _Thank_ you. O _kay_ , have a nice day, thanks for shopping with us, bye."

The woman smiled at him politely before turning away with her cart, but he could hear her huff loudly to herself as she walked away. He rolled his eyes, before he found his gaze going on to the next customer.

Or, at least, he _assumed_ there was a customer somewhere behind the mountain of food stacked precariously in the shopping cart. His assumption was confirmed as a face peeked around from behind a twelve-pack of Pepsi, sweating profusely. The man managed to push the cart up to the til, before turning back and-

Voldemort wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry- and as he glanced down at his watch, he decided to laugh. The man was headed towards another cart, parked at the back of the line, that was just as- if not more so- full. The man's face reddened as he strained to push the cart up to join the other.

Feeling a presence behind him, Voldemort turned around and looked up to see Jim, who must've just clocked in for his shift. The tall man's mouth was agape.

"Well, that's my cue," Voldemort said cheerily, nearly cackling as he slapped Jim on the back. Jim winced a bit as Voldemort jogged to the employee room to change out of the uniform.

* * *

Voldemort sighed in relief as he reclined in the truck's seat, hands behind his head. He got off work at three, and due to crappy traffic had just gotten into the school parking lot at 3:10. Still, even though class was out Mu usually took a while grabbing her stuff- she probably wouldn't be out for another five minutes. Eyes fluttering shut, he slumped down...

_BANGBANGBANG._

Letting out a very undignified yelp, Voldemort jumped nearly an inch out of his seat, smacking his head on the roof. Wincing and still tensed up, he looked over at the source of the noise to see Mu outside the passenger door, face flushed and fist raised to the window as she grinned sheepishly.

Grumbling, Voldemort unlocked the door, and she quickly jumped in.

"You scared the shit outta me!" Voldemort half-scolded, half-complained. "Fuckin' hell, don't do that."

"Sorry!" Mu said, not looking very sorry at all, as she grinned, tossing her backpack between their seats. "How was your day? Did anybody try and wash their hair and/or strip and take a shower in the misty spraying stuff in the produce section?"

"Not yet," Voldemort said, and Mu looked disappointed. "Probably not ever. Sorry. And my day was... fine."

Mu rotated in her seat, leaning her back against the window, bringing her legs up to her chest and placing her chin on her knees. "'Fine'? _Uh-oh_ , that doesn't sound so fine to me."

Voldemort sighed. "Alright, alright. It was... kind of crappy. So. Many. Hagglers." He groaned. "And it's always the old ones, so I can't be too mean or else I'll feel like a jerk. But sometimes they're just so- _ugh_! I just wanna take their heads and-" He made odd gestures with his hands, accompanied by some strange noises.

Mu grimaced. "Oh, yikes. That bad, huh?"

"And then-" Voldemort paused, feeling something nagging at the back of his head. He looked at his daughter. "Hey, what about you? You came out of there pretty early."

Mu waved her hand dismissively. "Pfft, I'm fine! I just- I dunno, I was extra speedy today. I guess maybe it's because I don't have a lot of homework, so there was less crud to stuff in my bag." She grinned brightly at him.

Voldemort frowned, still feeling as if something was wrong, before shrugging. "Okay!"

* * *

“Hello, Mr. Riddler!”

Voldemort winced, slowly turning around from his front door to look at his white-haired neighbor, who was sitting in his rocking chair in his front yard. _Shit._ He could've sworn that chair was empty when he'd parked the truck. Damn, that old man was fast. "Hey, Mr. Robinson," He hollered with a grimace. "And, uh, it's _Riddle_."

The old man smiled blankly at him, before looking confused and pointing to his ear.

Voldemort sighed, clenching his keys in his fist. " _NEVERMIND_ ," He yelled as loudly as he could.

The old man just flashed him another gummy-toothed grin, before leaning down and reaching for a squeaky toy that sat beside his chair. He picked it up and hurled it across his lawn. "Get it, girls! Coco, Bella, go on!"

Voldemort's brow furrowed. _Fuck is he doing?_ Then, he squinted at the long grass and saw two furry, brown, unmoving lumps hidden among the dirt. When the squeaky toy sailed right over their bodies, he vaguely registered the old man swearing at the motionless meat-bags.

"I'm, like, ninety percent sure those dogs are dead," Mu said from beside him, not even bothering to whisper as she stared in amused horror. "I don't think they've budged for at least six months."

"Don't exaggerate, it's only been a week," Voldemort responded, before frowning. "I don't know. Maybe they're just old and tired and don't wanna move."

Mu cocked an eyebrow up at him skeptically.

Voldemort sighed. "He'll figure it out eventually," He muttered to her, before forcing a smile and waving goodbye to the old man. Climbing up the steps, he unlocked the front door.

After his falling out with the Death Eaters and adopting Mu, Voldemort had moved out of the apartment him and Bella were renting. They'd been sharing it with Lucius, too, before he met that Narcissa Black (who Bella and Voldemort were both pretty sure had been fucking her housekeeper). The place just had too many bad memories- plus, he knew if Bella ever managed to escape jail, that’d be the first place she’d look for him. So, using the inheritance he’d gotten from his grandparents (turns out the old farts were actually pretty rich, and had forgotten to change their wills after the Unmentionable Christmas, thank god), Voldemort bought a house of their own. It hadn't cost a lot- thank god, he wanted to save some of the money for Mu later on- since they really didn’t need a whole lot. Voldemort didn’t have time for pets, and he doubted he’d want any children after Mu, and after Bellatrix, he just… hadn't been able to see himself dating anyone.

“ _Sooo_ , when’s the next PTA meeting?” Mu asked as she walked into the living room, flinging her jacket on the couch.

“Tomorrow, they meet every Thursday,” Voldemort responded from the doorway as he kicked off his boots, neatly placing them in a row with all his other shoes. “Right after school, so you might have to walk. And don't think I didn't see that- hang that up, I don’t want the couch to start smelling like your sweaty jacket and growing mold and bacteria and all sorts of shit.”

“It’s not _that_ sweaty!” Mu protested with a pout, though relented and grabbed it, hanging it up in the closet closest to the front door. “And you’re going for sure?”

“That’s the plan.”

“What are you wearing?”

Voldemort blinked, the question throwing him for a loop. “Uh, I dunno. A black shirt and jeans, I guess.”

“You wear that, like, every day!”

Voldemort snorted, pausing as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “Yeah, so what?" He responded over his shoulder, a bit confused. "Does it matter what I wear? Should I wear something really ugly, or...?" Okay, now Voldemort was genuinely considering going out and buying something so obnoxious Linda motherfucking Cooper would cry when he walked in to the meeting tomorrow.

“No, no! I'm just _saying_ , parents might not be the only ones there." Mu leaned against the back of the couch, trying to look casual. "It's not called a parent _parent_ association, ya know. Teachers might be there, and if they are you want to make a good impression, right?"

"I don't think any of the teachers care enough about the PTA to att-" Voldemort paused, gears turning in his head as he slowly spun around. "Hold on." He jabbed a finger at his daughter, who was trying her best to look innocent. "You think that _Squirrel_ guy's gonna be there."

Mu looked startled, and then offended. " _Whaaa_? No! I mean... _maybe_. I was just speaking generally! About teachers in general! Teachers that in general comes to these meetings! Generally!"

"Yeah, _sure_." Scoffing, Voldemort rolled his eyes as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing a dish towel from the oven handle as he absentmindedly began to wipe the counter down. He couldn't deny that the guy had been pretty cute.

Okay, a lot cute.

... okay, he was a fucking dreamboat and Voldemort was offended that Dumbledore had the damn nerve to even hire him.

And sure, he had really pretty eyes that were all nice and brown and expressive and chocolate-y and all that poetic shit, and fuck anybody who says brown eyes are ugly because _goddamn_ , Voldemort could've stared into those things for hours. Sure, his lips... looked _good_ , he guessed, considering how much he bit and licked them it was a miracle that they weren't all chapped and gross and fucked up. Sure, his personality seemed alright, and he was weirdly nice and kind of awkward but in a strangely endearing way. Sure, he had a really nice laugh that made his eyes sparkle and his whole face glow and-

 _Anyways_. Sure, he was hot and all, but Voldemort barely even knew the guy.

 _But you’d_ like _to get to know him better,_ a voice whispered from the back of Voldemort’s head.

Voldemort told that voice to stuff it.

So, basically- why should he care what this schmuck thought of him? He decided he didn’t, and promptly told his daughter so.

Mu just snorted before plopping down on the couch, hands behind her head as she stretched her legs out.

The smug smirk faded from Voldemort’s face at her reaction. “ _Fuck_ you mean-” -he imitated her snort. “I don’t care what that guy thinks!”

Mu snorted again.

Voldemort growled in frustration. “I don’t! He’s… he’s a _sissy_ , just like I thought he’d be.”

“ _Mhm_.”

“A total dweeb, like _honestly_ -”

“ _Mhmmm_.”

“And _such_ a nerd! I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of guy I stuffed in trash cans back in high school. That bitch wore SUSPENDERS.”

“ _Mhmmmmmm_. Well, that’s kinda sad that you feel that way because he asked me about you today.”

“ _WHAT_?” Voldemort’s head turned over to his daughter so fast he nearly got whiplash. “Really?”

Mu laughed. “ _No_ , I was just kidding-”

Voldemort felt his cheeks redden. “Oh, uh, okay. Because I was really worried there. That'd be super unprofessional. _So_ unprofessional that I might have to talk to the, y’know, _principal_ and all. He might get fired, and that’d suck because I know _you_ like him." He nodded to himself. "Yeah.”

Mu continued. “-but he really did seem... different today.”

Voldemort tried his best to look nonchalant. “Really? Like how?”

Mu shrugged. “Like… distracted. He barely even read today. He’d be holding the book, but then his gaze would drift out the window and he stare out it all sappy-like, but he'd still be, y'know, holding the book so it looked a bit weird. It was almost like he couldn’t get his mind off something, or-” She waggled her eyebrows. “Some _one_. _Eh_? _Eh_? _Eh_?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “You’re reading too much into things, he was probably just stressed about grading or something. I dunno." He sighed, standing behind her and giving her a hug. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, kiddo, but trust me- if he was thinking about anybody it wouldn't have been me. Besides, what if the rumors are fake and he has a girlfriend or something?" He paused as he straightened up. "Not that _I_ care."

Mu blinked innocently. "Why, whenever have I suggested that you do, father dearest?"

Voldemort smiled, despite himself. "Look, just..." He paused again. "Just focus on being a kid. Don't worry about me or Mr. Quirrell." Kissing her on the top of her head, Voldemort headed upstairs. Before reaching the top, he leaned over the railing and hollered, " _And get started on your homework_!"

* * *

As Voldemort lay in bed later that night, he stared up at the ceiling, ruminating over the day's events.

He doubted Quirrell even remembered him as anything more than that weird pale guy, if he remembered him at all. He met tons of other parents that night- why would he have stood out?

 _Agh_! Mu was getting in his head. No, he had to focus on more important things- like getting vengeance on that Linda bitch tomorrow. He couldn't afford any distractions, no matter how nice their eyes may be.

(...besides, Quirrell was probably straight anyways. Jane Austen probably just wrote about self-inserty nerdy girls falling in love with super hot super buff dreamy guys with long flowing hair and rock-hard abs way out of their leagues. Why would a gay Quirrell read that heterosexual nonsense?)

And with that thought, Voldemort turned over, eyes falling shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (dw the dogs are jus chillin)


	4. so many pta mom ocs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will i actually give this fic a legit and serious title one day? who knows

**✘ CHAPTER THREE.**

october 19 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_.

Voldemort thrust out his arm from beneath his comforter and began blindly slapping his bedside table. After about ten tries, he finally managed to smack the top of his digital clock.

“Fuck _oooooofffffffffff_ ,” He moaned, voice muffled. “School SUCKS, I don’t wanna _goooooooo_ …”

Silence. Then,

“Oh shit I'm twenty-six.”

Moments later, Voldemort's pale face poked out from beneath his blanket, and he sat up. With a rather impressive crack of his spine, accompanied by a wince, he stood up and shuffled out the door and down the hall, pausing by Mu’s room.

“You awake?”

“ _Yep_!”

“Cool.” And with that, Voldemort headed downstairs and started brewing a coffee.

A few minutes after he had sat down at the dining table and started sipping at his mug, he heard slow footsteps upstairs, which quickened and turned into the sound of running as Mu flew down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen in her brightly-colored pajamas.

“IT’S TODAY!” She yelled, face breaking into a grin.

Voldemort blinked slowly and took a long sip of coffee, feigning ignorance. “What, your birthday?”

“No-”

“ _My_ birthday?”

“ _No_!”

Voldemort shrugged. “Shit, that’s all I got.”

Mu heaved in an exaggerated sigh. “PTA meeting, _duh_!”

Stifling a yawn, Voldemort leaned back in his seat, stroking his chin pensively. “Yeah… about that. Y’know, I was up thinking last night, and… should I really be stooping down to her level? How does that make me any better? Besides, the PTA does so much for the school, and to be going for such a selfish reason would be s- _PSYCHE I’M TOTALLY STILL GOING_!” He cackled, high-fiving Mu.

The dark-haired girl stood on her tip-toes, pulling a bowl from the cupboard as she began making cereal. “Soooo, what’s the game plan?”

“Well,” Voldemort started, rubbing his hands together deviously. "First, I’m gonna walk in.”

“Ooh, _noice_.”

“Then, using my superior knowledge and debate skills, I’m gonna make Linda motherfucking Cooper look like the racist, gossipy assbitch she is.”

“Alright…”

“ _Then_...!” Voldemort’s face brightened, before his shoulders slumped. “...yeah, that’s it so far.”

“You’ll do fine!” Mu reassured him through a mouthful of Froot Loops, swinging her legs cheerily from her seat atop the counter.

Voldemort went to take another gulp of coffee, before pausing and snapping his fingers, then pointing at his daughter. “ _Oh_! You gonna be alright with walking home?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Voldemort frowned at Mu’s sudden change in tone. She noticed his expression and quickly backtracked. “Heh, sorry. I mean… _yeah_! _Sure_!” Even as she grinned brightly and spoke in an exaggeratedly cheerful voice, Voldemort couldn’t help but feel something was still off.

He cocked an eyebrow, recalling how he had a similar hunch yesterday. “Uh, is there something going on?”

Mu shook her head. “Pfft, of course not!” She shoved another spoonful of sugary, colorful cereal in her mouth.

Voldemort pondered this for a moment, before deciding he was overreacting. Mu usually told him everything, and she hadn’t brought up any concerns lately, so he doubted anything was going on.

Right?

* * *

After dropping Mu off at school, Voldemort hibernated for about seven hours, before being rudely awoken by his alarm again at three.

“Okay,” He muttered to himself as he rolled out of bed and sat up for the second time that day, “You can do this. Just go in there and don’t punch anybody.” Quickly, he got changed into his usual attire- plain black tee, a pair of tight black jeans that were the only thing remaining item from his hardcore emo days, and black underwear (he doubted that anyone would be seeing his underwear so it didn’t really matter if it matched, but he felt like a fraud otherwise), before shuffling downstairs.

Poking his head into the bathroom, Voldemort grimaced at his ghostly pale reflection- at his deep set eyes and the bruise-like shadows underneath, at his stupid, skinny, sticky-uppy nose that, paired with his long nostrils, always reminded him of a snake.

“Oh, yikes.” He muttered, grimacing. “Yep, still lookin’ like a malnourished Uncle Fester. Shitting hell.”

Shaking his head and grinning to himself as he headed towards the door and slipped into his most intimidating, stompiest pair of boots, he said aloud to the empty house, “Yeah, I’m sure Quirrell was fucking floored by me.” Voldemort threw his head back and guffawed as he headed out the front door. “Fucking… _daydreaming_ about me during class and shit… _ha_!”

As he climbed into the car and shut the door, he squared his shoulders and the smile fell from his lips. “Okay, Voldemort,” He said to himself. “Focus… clear your mind… get your head in the game… _getcha getcha head in the game, you gotta_ \- no shut up, _focus_ , dammit! You’re a man on a mission.” And so Voldemort pulled out of the driveway, humming under his breath.

About ten minutes later, Voldemort pulled into the school parking lot. As he got out of the truck, he glanced at the time and winced- 3:15 already- before shrugging. It’d be okay if he was only a minute or two late, right?

Ignoring the curious glances of the few kids still hanging out in front of the school, he strode in confidently, headed down the hall and, without skipping a beat ~~dramatically kicked~~ nudged open the door to the teacher’s lounge and walked in.

Conversations immediately ceased as all heads turned his way. Jaws were dropped, eyes widened. The only sound was the coffee machine in the back. Voldemort had to hold back his laughter- the whole thing was so fucking comical.

A plump blonde woman was the first to gather herself and walk up to him with a cheery smile. “Hello, there!” She said loudly. “I’m Debra, but you can call me Deb!” She laughed even louder. “You must be a new member! Well, the more the merrier, I tell ya!” She chortled again.

“Uh, Voldemort. Voldemort Riddle.” Voldemort said shortly. This woman was far too genuinely happy, and it was frankly making him rather uncomfortable.

She raised an eyebrow, though her smile grew even bigger, which Voldemort didn't think was possible. "Why, what a unique name! Well, we're all pleased to have you here, Mr. Riddle. Why dontcha just take a seat anywhere at the table you'd like, alrighty? We were just about to start!”

Pretty much everybody was seated at the large, rectangular table- Linda sat at the head, and her little blonde friends were sitting beside her and across from each other. On one side was a rosy-faced brunette in an obnoxiously yellow shirt sat beside a rich-looking blonde woman with a perm who reminded Voldemort far too much of Narcissa for his own comfort. On the other was a long-necked redhead (also with a perm) who was soon joined by Deb, and then a brunette with a ponytail. Voldemort grabbed a chair by Blonde Perm, who regarded him with an elegantly arched eyebrow and pursed lips. He rotated the chair so he sat in it backwards, then crossed his arms and rested them on the top. He heard some hushed giggling, though bit back a scowl and ignored it.

Barely five seconds after his butt hit the chair, Linda stood up, clipboard in already in hands. “Alright, ladies and... _others_ ,” She said loudly. “ _Finally_ , we can get started.” Voldemort bristled a bit at that comment- he wasn’t _that_ late. “First order of business- our annual Halloween fundraiser! Now, does anyone have any ideas?” She paused for a total of five long seconds, before rubbing her hands together and continuing quickly. ‘Well, I’d like to suggest a good old fashioned bake sale!”

Voldemort snorted under his breath, before stealthily covering it up with an exaggerated coughing fit. The blonde at his side inched away from him in her seat in barely-concealed disgust.

The silence seemed to grow even tense as Linda looked at Voldemort for the first time since he had walked in. Her brow furrowed in what was likely meant to be innocent confusion, though her annoyance was betrayed by the dangerous glint in her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry... _Voldemort_ , was it? if you have an issue with my suggestion, then I’m sure we’d all like to hear your thoughts.”

The back of Voldemort’s neck tingled as he felt all eyes go to him once more. He shrugged casually. “Oh, no, not really a problem, it’s just- a bake sale, _really_?” He laughed a bit. “My kid’s only been in this school for a month, but from what I hear all you guys ever do are bake sales. I’m not saying not to do them, just… I dunno, spice it up a bit. It’s Halloween, guys, come on!” He looked around at the table and was surprised to see some people didn't look like they completely disagreed with what he was saying. “Do a _dance_ or something-”

Lina cut him off pompously, voice shrill. “As a rule we have _one_ dance per year. To organize another one with our budget, and within such a short amount of time? I think _not_. Mr Riddle, do you even kn-”

“O _kay_ ,” Voldemort cut her off. “No dance, I got it. Uh… how about… a haunted house- wait. No. A carnival!”

Linda sighed. “Once _again_ , Mr Riddle, we simply do not have the budget-”

“Actually, we do.”

There was a silence, before all eyes turned to Yellow Shirt. “Um, I just checked and… yeah, we could probably pull it off.” She said meekly.

Linda paused, before forcing a pleasant smile on her face. “Oh, wonderful!” She said brightly. “But still, the bake sale’s an old classic, and we should probably put it to a vote. All in favor of the bake sale, please raise your hand.” Redperm Longneck raised her hand, along with Barb and Karen (who Voldemort had taken to calling 'The Shining twins' in his head), and Linda. Yellow Shirt almost raised her hand, before her face flushed and she lowered it.

As Linda surveyed the table, her face tightened. “ _Alright…_ all who want to take a risk and go for the carnival?”

Voldemort's hand shot up, along with those of Brown Ponytail and Deb. Slowly, Yellow Shirt raised her hand, avoiding Linda's gaze sheepishly.

Linda opened her mouth, about to declare the tie, Voldemort guessed, before- much to his badly-hidden surprise- Blonde Perm raised her hand coolly, expression blank.

Linda's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay, then!” She said, rubbing her hands together. “The carnival wins, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Linda,” Yellow Shirt said quietly.

“I’m not.” Blonde Perm beside her said harshly, examining her nails in apparent boredom. “The... _newcomer_ is right. We do the same thing every single Halloween. I’m bored of it, the teachers are bored of it, and, quite frankly, I think even the students are getting bored of it.”

“Oh, and don’t worry too much, Linda!” Deb chimed in, smiling. “I’m sure we can still have a concession booth somewhere in there!”

A smirk tugged at Voldemort’s lips.

* * *

A couple minutes later, Linda called for a break. Voldemort waited a few moments, watching the other women get up and mingle, before standing up and stretching, grunting as he felt his bones pop. He heard some more giggles, which he elected to ignore as he headed straight for the coffee machine. Reaching up, he grabbed a mug from the top cupboard and began to pour himself a cup.

Things were going pretty well so far- he’d already managed to piss off Linda! And it looked as if she had realized that the control she usually had over the other mothers wasn't as strong as she'd thought, what with a newcomer- and one with his ugly mug, at that- waltzing in and managing to get the support of over half of them on his first day. Voldemort just had to keep doing what he was doing, and sooner or later Linda would break. Ah, vengeance would taste so sweet.

Sighing to himself, he took a sip of his coffee and turned around-

“ _Hi there_!”

\- and nearly choked as he came face-to-face with Brown Ponytail, Yellow Shirt, Deb, and The Shining twins, all crowded around him like a pack of hyenas in lipstick.

“....Hi?” Voldemort said, cocking an eyebrow as they looked him up and down, sizing him up. Despite them being a bunch of housewives, he felt strangely on edge. And they didn't look too comfortable either, judging by their odd-looking smiles. Were all rich white suburban moms just this freaky around new people, or...?

They all giggled again. Voldemort had never felt more weirded out in his entire life. Jeez, he knew he looked like a freak and all, but this was fucking weird. They didn't have to stare so much.

“We just came over here to introduce ourselves,” Brown Ponytail said. “I’m Helen! Helen Mayer.” Voldemort blinked at her hand, before deciding he should probably attempt to be polite, and shook it. Her face flushed as he did for some reason that he probably would've been curious about if he cared. Like. At all.

He learned the names of the other girls- Yellow Shirt was Suzanne Armstrong, Redperm Longneck was Pamela Nash, and Blonde Perm was Lucinda Montgomery.

They talked for a bit- well, Voldemort nodded and drank his coffee as they babbled on, occasionally answering their questions shortly. Then, they asked a question that made him nearly drop his mug. “So, is your wife at home, or...?”

“Oh, uh,” He fumbled, then sighed in relief as he regained control of his coffee cup. “No wife, actually. Just me and Mu.”

Their smiles intensified as a couple of them tittered among themselves, and now Voldemort was actually really offended. He knew he looked like a fucking albino snake, but shit, he thought PTA moms were classier than this. Weren't they supposed to be all passive aggressive or something? THIS was far too obvious.

Deb laughed and nudged Suzanne with her elbow playfully, "Goodness, what a shame!"

 _Yeah, I'm sure you think it is._ His brow furrowed, and Voldemort opened his mouth to tell the women off before he heard Linda announce over at the table, “Alright, let’s continue, ladies!”

As everyone regrouped and Voldemort sat down in his previous position, she began to speak again. “So! Now let’s start to toss around some ideas for the carnival. I was thinking…” She glanced down at her notes. “Pin the spider on the web, a pumpkin painting station and competition-”

“ _Pbbbt._ ” Voldemort interrupted her with a loud raspberry.

She eyed him, not even bothering to hide her irritation. “I’m _sorry_ , do you- do you have a pr-”

“ _No_ , I do not have a _problem_ ,” Voldemort said, his voice just as clipped as hers as he rested his chin on his arms. “Just a suggestion. It’s just… these are _teenagers_ , Linda, they’re not gonna be into that kinda boring-ass shit. No offense. You do have something going there with the pumpkins, though. But why not just carve them instead of painting them?"

Linda began, “The tools used to traditionally carve pumpkins are highly dangerous a-"

“If these kids are anything like teens were when I was in high school, they’ve handled far worse,” Voldemort replied easily, cutting her off. “Plus, after the pumpkin carving contest we- I mean, _they_ \- could smash them!" (Voldemort would totally be smashing most of them, but these guys didn't need to know that.)

“...Smash them.” Linda repeated monotonously with a raised eyebrow, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Yeah!” Voldemort perked up, pleased with his own idea. “Teens love smashing pumpkins, and they’re gonna do it anyways. Might as well have them do it on something we can clean up. We could do it after the carving contest, and if we can’t find a tarp we can lay down a bunch of garbage bags. Oh, and we could get tools and shit! Like hammers and bats and-”

“Alright, thank you very much for your... _suggestions_ ,” Linda said stiffly. “Alright. Anything else?”

“As part of your bake sale, Linda, we could do a candy apple bar!” Deb suggested. “Different candy apples with different coatings!”

“And we could do beer pong!” Voldemort piped up, before seeing the appalled looks of the other parents. He backtracked. "Uh. I mean. Not with _real_ beer, of course."

Deb smiled at him. “Oh, great idea! And we have to have apple bobbing, of course.”

“Uh, _duh_! And…”

The rest of the meeting continued on, as the others began to tentatively suggest ideas too (except for Lucinda, who just sat there nodding along occasionally, Pam and Linda who tried to shoot down basically any idea that wasn't their own, and Barb and Karen who just went along with what Linda said). Soon things came to a close, and Voldemort followed everyone out the door. While most of the other stayed inside to mingle for a bit, Voldemort headed straight for the door- or at least he began to, before he heard Linda’s voice.

“Oh! Mister Riddle!” His eyes rolled back into his head, and he held back a groan as he turned around to see her now making her way towards him.

“ _I just wanted to say_ …” She looked at him with narrowed eyes, before smiling brightly. “Thank you for showing up today, we always need new members.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed too, and he crossed his arms, then, not to be outmatched, he put on his toothiest Customer Service smile. “Yeah, of course! I just figured, with Mu in-”

Suddenly, Linda leaned in close. “ _Fine._ _You made your point_ ," She hissed at him through gritted teeth. " _Alright? You wanted to come in here, mess things up and piss me off. And you did that. Whatever you were trying to do, it worked. Thank you for your contributions today, and_ -"

“Today?” Voldemort repeated, before realization struck. “Fuck no, you're not getting rid of me that easily. I’m a full-time member.”

Linda was struck speechless, and Voldemort threw his head back and laughed, relishing the moment. “You- you thought that _I_ thought that showing up today would be _good enough_? You’ve gotta be _shitting_ me.” He stepped back, still chuckling. "Linda, always the jokester. Well, see ya next week!" Before walking out the door, a grin on his face.

Still smiling to himself- the fucking look on her face was just pure gold, fuck he wish he could've taken a picture- Voldemort climbed into his truck and started it. As he went to start pulling out, he glanced back at the school and then froze.

_Oh shit._

It was Quirrell- his arms were full of books and folders, and he struggled before finally managing to nudge the door open with his elbow. As soon as he stepped outside a strong breeze ruffled his hair and shoved it into his eyes, and he scowled adorably before managing to free one hand and fix it.

_Fuck._

_Fuckfuckfuck_ his scowl should _not_ be adorable.

Why was this guy so fucking special? What was it about him that made Voldemort unable to get him out of his mind? He barely knew the guy! Yet whenever he saw a squirrel outside or scrolled past a Jane Austen movie on Netflix he immediately thought of him. And whenever he saw literally anything brown, he thought of his fucking eyes.

Voldemort groaned. “Fuuuuuuck,” He mumbled, before his shoulders slumped and his head fell down on the steering wheel.

_BEEEEEP!_

“SHIT!” Voldemort yelped as he heard his truck honk. Loudly. “WHAT THE HELL? I DIDN’T EVEN HIT IT THAT HARD!” He looked up, and immediately regretted it as he saw Quirrell staring directly at him, a confused look on his face.

Voldemort sat there, unsure of what to do, before he waved awkwardly. Much to his surprise, Quirrell waved back, equally as awkward.

And then he dropped all his books.

Voldemort winced, then watched guiltily as Quirrell knelt down on the ground. God, he had to have dropped, like, twenty books. What was the protocol for this kind of situation? Was he supposed to get out of the truck and help Quirrell with his things? He was way on the other side of the parking lot, he’d probably have everything under control by the time he got there.

Yeah, that’d be pretty stupid.

So, Voldemort did something that for some reason he felt was even stupider, and just fucking drove off right as he started picking up his things.

* * *

"Shit shit shit shit,” He chanted as he got out of the truck and headed up the stairs to his house. “Why the fuck did I do that. He probably thinks I’m a total jerk. _Fuck_. And I can’t believe I just fucking waved at him.” He opened the door and stepped in, taking off his shoes as he closed it behind him. “That’s it. I’m gonna have to move. MU, START PACKING, WE’RE MO-” He paused, looking around. “...MU?”

Something felt… off.

He walked further into the house. “Mu, you home?” He checked the kitchen, the living room… nothing.

Then, he heard quick footsteps upstairs- only a few, as if someone was running across the hall- and then the slamming of a door. He sighed in relief.

“You scared me!” Voldemort climbed up the stairs and began walking down the hall. His brow furrowed as he noted his daughter's closed- but not locked- door. and he paused just outside it. “Hey, you okay?” He said softly, resting his head against the wall.

A couple moments passed before he got a reply. “ _Yeah, I’m alright_!” Her voice was cheery as normal. “ _I’ll be out in a few! Oh, and you_ gotta _tell me how the meeting went_!”

Voldemort relaxed. “Yeah, sure!” He turned around and began to head back towards the stairs, before he looked to the left, at the bathroom on the other side of the hall and a bit up from Mu’s bedroom.

Curiously, he peeked in, and frowned at what he saw. Cupboards were flung open and half-closed hazardously, a bunch of clean paper towels were stacked in a suspiciously neat pile on top of the garbage bin, the tap was still running slightly, and there were little puddles surrounding the sink that had tiny slips of white paper trapped inside that looked oddly familiar.

Voldemort frowned. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Mu was hiding something. Was it her period? No, she got that, like, two years ago. This was something different.

 _Nah_. He had to be overreacting. Mu had always told him whenever something went wrong, so he doubted anything was going on.

Shaking his head and relaxing his shoulders, he headed down to the living room.

About fifteen or twenty minutes after he flopped down on the couch and began watching High School Musical- shut up, he had just embarrassed himself in front of his crush, he _needed this_ \- Mu finally came downstairs. He paused the movie and looked up, grinning. “Hey! You’re finally down! I’m guessing you wanna hear about the meeting?”

“Oh, _totally_!” Mu said eagerly, plopping down on the couch and turning to face him, bringing her feet up on the couch and crossing her legs. She pulled the sleeves of her shirt over her hands for maximum coziness, Voldemort presumed. “Okay, so first of all: describe the look on Linda’s face when you walked in.”

They chatted for awhile, and Voldemort not-so-accidentally neglected to tell her about what happened with Quirrell. Then, Voldemort stood up to begin making supper, but before heading into the kitchen paused and turned around.

“Hey,” He said, frowning. “Were you wearing that earlier?”

“Hm? What?” Mu paused, before looking down at her shirt, which Voldemort could’ve sworn had far shorter sleeves this morning. “Oh! This! Yeah, I got a stain on the other one at school.”

“Oh, okay!” Voldemort nodded, pleased with the explanation. He really was just worried about nothing, as it turned out.

He was so pleased with the explanation, and so busy with berating himself for his exchange with Quirrell earlier, in fact, that when he was doing laundry later that night he didn't even notice that the t-shirt Mu had been wearing didn't _have_ a stain on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk bout y'all but i have a sneaking suspicion that those pta moms Did Not think he was ugly lmao
> 
> (also does anyone know what those little white slips of paper are by the sink or did i make that too vague or whatever, idk)


	5. wasn't this supposed to be slow burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this is so late! i think this is the longest chapter yet, and i've been editing it for a week now. there's probably a bunch of errors i've missed but it's one in the morning and i just wanna give you guys /something/. please enjoy !!

**✘ CHAPTER FOUR.**

october 26/27 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

The next week flew by in a flash- Deb had Voldemort sign some email sign-up sheet before escaping out the door, so every morning he woke up with fifty new updates from her and Linda in his inbox. He didn’t actually have to do all that much; from what he could tell Deb, Linda, Karen and Barb had pretty much everything covered, leaving Voldemort and the rest of the PTA committee to just… sit at home and twiddle their thumbs until the carnival, he guessed. He wasn’t particularly bothered by not having to do a bunch of work, to be honest, though he did wonder how the other PTA members felt about being a bit excluded from the whole process. And, Mu hadn’t come home telling him about any mid-class rants from Mr. Quirrell about rude albinos who honk their horns at teachers carrying an entire library’s worth of books and then drive off instead of helping them, which was a relief.

Speaking of Mu, she seemed to be doing okay. She’d been wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants a lot more often- actually, that was all she wore nowadays. Which was kind of weird; despite the late-October chill she’d always been pretty impervious to the cold, even as a kid, but Voldemort didn’t think too much of it. She also didn’t talk about school as much as she used to, aside from the occasional update on Mr. Quirrell. Apparently he had been acting a bit off the day after the PTA meeting- Mu thought he seemed to be a bit frustrated with himself, which Voldemort thought was crazy. He was the one who fucked up in the first place.

Work was alright- he was working two jobs now, since his boss at the grocery store had started flashing him The Look that Voldemort had come to associate with a “friendly chat” (aka firing) in the near future. It was hilarious when it happened to other people; not so much now that it was happening to him. Plus, he was all too aware that his grandparents’ inheritance wasn’t going to last him and Mu forever. Whatever. He hated the store anyways. (But not enough to quit before literally the very second he was about to get the boot.) It was just at the local gas station, and he mostly worked evening shifts and read magazines on a stool up at the counter while teens and college students popped in and out (they, like, never bought anything. It was a bit weird.), occasionally looking up to give them a Death Glare if they got too rowdy or starting trying to hide twelve-packs of pop in their jackets.

Suddenly, it was Thursday again- the day before the carnival. He followed what seemed to be becoming a routine- drop Mu off, crawl into bed for six hours, wake up and scowl at reflection in self-loathing after getting ready, then drive to school. Ignoring the stragglers lingering outside the doors and lounging on the benches (though there were fewer than last time, he noted), he walked in and down the hall, and kicked the door open.

“Ha! Three fourteen, bitches,” He cackled under his breath with a triumphant grin, before walking over to his normal spot at the end of the table, rotating a chair and taking his usual seat.

The meeting went pretty alright- it was a bit boring, to be honest. They just discussed and finalized some things, and made sure that everything was ready to go, which made it hard to make Linda seem like a bigoted dumbass with lame ideas. So, Voldemort just kind of stayed quiet, nodding along confidently. Linda herself seemed to be partaking in the passive-aggression these people were known for- every time he glanced in her direction she’d be looking right back at him, with a sickly sweet smile on her face and thirst for his death in her eyes. During break he was once again subjected to the interrogation of the same group of ladies, who questioned him about his home life, hobbies and past relationships- Voldemort figured they were expecting him to say that he’d been single his whole life, so relished in informing them that he’d actually been in a relationship with a woman about five years ago. Much to his confusion, they weren’t very taken aback by this, and actually seemed a bit… pleased?

After break, they finalized some more shit, then everybody split off. Voldemort hastily made an exit once again, not even bothering to stick around to taunt Linda. Upon getting home, parking in the drive way and stepping out of the truck, he noticed Mr. Robinson in his rocking chair next door. Voldemort waved to the old man, before doing a double take as he noticed the empty yard. Could it be...?

"Uhhhhh..... hey, Mr. Robinson," Voldemort called out, crossing his arms and leaning against the truck casually. "Where, uh. Where are the dogs?"

Mr. Robinson smiled sadly. "Oh, Coco and Bella, well- I'm afraid the girls have left, Mr. Riddler. Taken away from me, they were- snatched right out of my arms by the greedy hands of-" Shaking his fist, he cut himself off with a sigh. "Well, I supposed it was about time anyways. I just hoped for a little longer, though."

"Yeah, shit, I'm really sorry," Voldemort tried his best to sound sympathetic as he fumbled with the keys to the house. "Uh, you know, if you need anything just let me know."

The old man smiled down at him. "Aw, I will, Mr. Riddler."

"Yep, have a good day-" Voldemort finally opened the door to the house and stepped inside, slamming it shut and locking it behind him before hollering, "HEY MU, HE FINALLY NOTICED THE DAMN THINGS ARE DEAD!" He walked in the house and plopped down on the couch, then frowned at the unusual silence. He looked over at the door- yep, her shoes were there.

Voldemort shrugged, dismissing it. She was probably just chilling up in her room for a bit. Nothing to worry about.

About an hour later, he heard Mu come downstairs. He poked his head out of the kitchen, stirring spoon in hand. "Oh, hey! You alright?"

"Oh yeah, just homework," Mu replied offhandedly.

He nodded, ignoring the sneaking suspicion that he’d had all week that something was wrong. “Oh, okay.”

* * *

The next day came, and Mu was beyond excited for the carnival.

“This is so cool!” She squealed in the truck on the way to school. "I can't believe you actually came up with this! Are we actually gonna be able to smash a bunch of pumpkins?"

"Hell yeah!" Voldemort responded with a devilish grin. "And I didn't really do much, give the PTA some credit. But I was the most important so maybe give me a lot more credit than them. Oh, you coming?"

"Duh!"

"Cool. Uh..." Voldemort's brow furrowed as he thought things over. "I've gotta get there early to help everyone and shit, but I can swing by and pick you up right before it starts."

"Oh, I was meaning to ask, who's gonna be there?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Y'know, all of the PTA guys- well, _gals_ \- some staff members..."

"Like who?"

"Not Quirrell, that's for sure." He grinned at his daughter, whose shoulders slumped in defeat.

"How did you know I was gonna ask about him?" She pouted.

"Because I know you," Voldemort said bluntly. "And I know for a _fact_ that he isn't volunteering. Besides, I've only met the guy once, and he doesn't exactly seem like the type to volunteer to stand outside in the freezing cold for over three hours watching a bunch of kids run around and act like dumbasses, no offense. Isn't he, like, a bookworm or some shit?"

"I mean, he's, like, a good guy and all but... yeah, I guess you're right," Mu relented, huffing out a puff of air that sent her bangs flying up. "And- wait." She squinted at her father, and Voldemort felt his stomach begin to twist into knots- why, he didn't know. "How did you know he wasn't volunteering?"

Voldemort scoffed, looking away and focusing his gaze a little too intensely on the road in front of them. " _Pfft_ , because we talked about it at the meeting and in all the emails and shit, duh. And, I, y'know, noticed he wasn't on the list." He grinned internally. _Nailed it._

"Oh, you talked about all the teachers who are supervising?"

Voldemort nodded, eyes still on the road.

"Okay, cool. Whose one of the teachers who are volunteering?"

Voldemort nearly drove off the road. _I did not nail it, I repeat, I did NOT nail it._ He quickly swerved back onto it. "Whoops! Ah, shit. Sorry about that." He hummed to himself as his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"So?"

"So what?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"...Oh. What was your question?"

"Name literally _any_ teacher who volunteered to supervise. Name _one_."

A bead of sweat rolled down Voldemort's temple. "Uh. _Hm_. Name a... _teacher_. Who... yeah, okay." He coughed as slowly as humanely possible, before clearing his throat just as elaborately. "I can do that. Let me... just... think..." He massaged his forehead with one hand. "Just getting all the... brain juice flowing... I'm picturing the email... in my head... I'm seeing the... the title of the email... the recipients... the-"

"You are literally so bad at this."

" _I can't remember_!" Voldemort said defensively.

Mu cocked an eyebrow at him, and Voldemort was struck by how familiar the gesture was, yet he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. "You can't remember a _single_ teacher who decided to volunteer, but you remember that Mr. Quirrell... _didn't_? Am I getting this right?" She grinned hugely.

"Oh, shut up," Voldemort muttered, shoulders slumping. "I just... _y'know_. He... _eurgh_..." He growled, before collecting himself. "I was, uh, looking for it... because I remember thinking I would've been, uh, _surprised_ if I had seen it. His name on the list, I mean. Because... uh... he, _y'know_ , seems like the type who just stays at home sniffing his flowers and crying over Jane Austen novels and all that wussy shit."

Mu was quiet, and Voldemort allowed himself to smile victoriously as he returned his focus on the road. He was so focused on driving, however, that he didn't see that Mu had fallen silent due to the rather Jack-o-Lantern-esque grin that had split her beaming face into two.

Later on, he followed his usual routine of crashing into bed as soon as he got back home. Then, he woke up and picked Mu up from school. She didn't mention Quirrell again, which relieved him- if she had he might've accidentally ended up spilling the beans about their encounter the other day. Voldemort relaxed at home for a bit, before poking his head into Mu's room. "Okay, I'm heading out."

Mu looked up from her phone. "No you're not."

Voldemort's brow furrowed. "Uh, I'm not?"

"Not," Mu said decidedly. "Dressed like that."

Voldemort looked down at himself- a black t-shirt and black jeans. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" He said defensively.

Mu rolled her eyes. "Dad. It's a Halloween Carnival. I know you dress like, I dunno, a lazy goth all year 'round, but you've gotta step it up today!" She jumped up from her bed. "Ooh, I have a mask in my closet-"

"I am not wearing a mask," Voldemort said firmly. "I think my face is scary enough as it is. I look like a fucking skeleton, in case you haven't noticed."

Mu sighed, before her face brightened. "I," She said, punctuating each syllable with a finger gun pointed right at her father. "Have. The. Perfect. Idea." She stopped, grinning at him. "The shirt!"

Voldemort blinked, trying to figure out what she could be talking about. He conjured up an image of his closet in his head, and couldn't see anything unusual among the void of black fabric. "Uh, what shirt?"

"The skeleton shirt!" Mu was jumping up and down in excitement. "I gave it to you last Christmas!"

"Oh, yeah," Voldemort nodded, remembering. "Very seasonally inappropriate. I approved."

" _Weell_ , why don't you wear that? And I think I saw some skeleton gloves in the closet."

Voldemort sighed. "You're not gonna let me leave until I put all this on, are you?"

"Nope!"

About five minutes later, Voldemort was standing in the downstairs hallway in front of his daughter, now dressed in a tight skeleton-print black t-shirt instead of his usual plain black one, with a pair of skeleton print gloves on his hands and his usual stompy black boots on his feet. "Happy?" He grouched, running a hand through his pale blonde hair.

"Very." Mu said with a grin on her face, hands clasped together. "Are you _suuure_ you don't want face paint?"

Voldemort snorted. "No, I think I'll be okay." He grabbed his leather jacket off the hook- why, he didn't know, since both he and Mu were pretty resilient against the cold- and put it on, before opening the door. "Okay, I'll be back in just over an hour." He called out over his shoulder.

"Okay!" He heard Mu yell back before he shut the door.

Voldemort sighed as he walked down the steps and climbed into the truck. He rested his hands on the steering wheel, and looked down at the gloves. He reached for the wrist of one of them, before hesitating and stopping with a begrudging smile. _Eh, whatever,_ Voldemort thought. _They look pretty fucking cool._

* * *

After pulling into the parking lot, Voldemort went around the school instead of inside, and found himself walking down a set of stairs. As soon as the field came into view, his eyebrows raised and he swore under his breath. 

Voldemort was... impressed.

The field was bustling with activity, booths and the like were about halfway set up, and it looked as if there were more being made. He walked down to where he saw Deb, Helen, Suzanne and Barb standing together with matching clipboards.

Voldemort scowled internally. _What if I wanted a clipboard?_ He thought to himself. Well, he didn't. They were dorky as all hell. But still, none of them had known that.

Before he could even speak, Deb greeted him with a big, cheery smile. "Mr. Riddle, it's good to see ya!" She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a huge bear hug, one that had his feet brushing the top of the grass and Voldemort himself resisting the urge to gasp for breath.

" _Ha_ ," He panted once the blonde woman finally put him down. "Good to see you too, Deb."

Deb surveyed him with her hands on her hips, and chortled. "Oh, would you look at you? Goodness, well, if you ain't the finest skeleton I've ever seen." She flashed him a wink. "Shirt and gloves and makeup and all, goodness me..."

Voldemort blinked. "Uh, I'm not wearing makeup."

Deb blanched, before giggling awkwardly, her round cheeks flushing. "Oh, well aren't I just a bonehead. Well, point being, you look great! And you'll fit right in, I'm pretty sure most of the students and the vendors and some of the supervisors are coming in costume, too." She patted him on the back.

* * *

For about two hours Voldemort helped set up booths and carry stuff, and actually felt pretty useful. By around ten to six everything was ready, and the large group of PTA members and community volunteers stood around, surveying their work. The booths were all Halloween-ish, of course, and they had some fog machines set up- luckily it was a cloudy day, so the atmosphere was appropriately spooky too. Beside the pumpkin-carving competition booth was quite possibly Voldemort's favorite attraction- the pumpkin-smashing station (which basically consisted of a bunch of huge black tarps held down at the corners by sandbags, with tables gathered around displaying a bunch of goggles, tools and equipment).

Voldemort checked his phone, and swore. "Ah, shit. Gotta go pick up the kid, Deb. Oh, you need me to do anything when I get back? Take over the ticket booth, or..."

"Don't worry, Suzanne'll have that covered," Deb reassured him. "You can just walk around and supervise, along with the rest of the volunteers. And don't be afraid to have a little bit of fun yourself!"

"No work? Hell yeah!" Voldemort muttered as he grinned and bounded up the steps and towards the truck.

* * *

Not moments after Voldemort parked in front of the house, Mu came running out the door and climbed up into the truck.

Voldemort snorted. "Nice outfit," He said as he backed up out of the drive way, noting her orange Jack-O-Lantern sweater and orange-and-black striped leggings. "I thought you'd be wearing your costume, though- the candy witch thing."

"Candy _corn_ witch!" Mu corrected, before frowning and crossing her arms. "And no way! That's for Halloween and Halloween only, _duh_."

Voldemort held his hands up. "Alright, alright, you're the expert." Quickly he placed them back on the wheel as they began to drive down the street. "So, what are you doing on Halloween, anyways?"

"Trick or treating!" Mu squealed, clapping her hands. " _Ahhhhhh_ I'm so excited! It's gonna be me and Al and Roxy and Louis and everyone!"

"Al? That's a weird name." Voldemort remarked offhandedly.

"Coming from _Voldemort_." Mu rolled her eyes, though was smiling.

"It was a _code name_ , and it was cool!" Voldemort argued. "And it wasn't just random- I did this whole letter-scrambly-thing with my full name and-"

Mu blew a raspberry. " _Pbbt_. Don't worry, though. I like it. Tom's so..." She wrinkled her nose. " _Boring_."

Voldemort had told Mu about his past, of course; he had to. He first came up with Voldemort when he was just over Mu's age, back when he had began going to Hogwarts. It started as just a fun little nickname that he and his friends used in their juvenile club; then, as the group's activities grew more nefarious, it became a code name, used only among other members. Now, though, he could count the number of people who were still alive that knew _that_ Voldemort on one hand, and they were either in jail or running away from their pasts just as much as Voldemort was.

And so, he kept the name even when he turned his life around. Thomas was too formal. Tommy sounded fucking stupid, and even as a kid he hated being called that. And Tom wasn't... _him_. Tom was the piece of shit father who couldn't even bother to send a post card to his kid for sixteen fucking years. Tom was the piece of shit father who barely even _looked_ at his son when he first met him. Tom was the piece of shit father who Voldemort-

Well. Point being, the name Tom had been tainted. He didn't give a shit about the weird looks he got from people- Voldemort was 100 percent him, always had been. Well. Kind of. He liked to think that after he turned his life around, the old Voldemort kind of became a new entity. Or maybe that just made Voldemort feel less like an evil sack of shit all the time.

'Voldemort' had been ruined too- ruined in much the same way 'Tom' had been, ruined by horrible people doing horrible things. But it had been ruined by _Voldemort_ doing horrible things, by himself; and Voldemort felt that because he was the one who tarnished it, he was the only one who could... clean it? Fix it? Fuck, he was bad at metaphors.

Anyways, Tom... Tom had been ruined for him by his father, and since his dad was extremely dead, the name was Unfixable, in Voldemort's opinion. Unfixable, Unusable, Un _him_. ( _Not_ him. Whatever, you get it.)

Now, as far as Voldemort was concerned, Tom Riddle was dead. That was the one thing both Voldemorts- past and present, bad and morally-ambiguous- could agree on.

Voldemort blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts as he parked in the school parking lot. "Alright, let's head in." He said, and the two climbed out of the truck and began walking towards the field.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Mu squealed, "ROXY!" And began bounding down the steps, two at a time. Before Voldemort knew it she had disappeared into the crowd.

And what a crowd it was- the thing had just started ten minutes ago and the field was already filled with people. Voldemort grinned, crossing his arms as he surveyed the scene, before heading down the steps himself.

Voldemort wandered around, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the booths. Suddenly, a flash of brown caught his eye about twenty yards away, and he glanced over towards a gap between two booths on the edge of the field and his heart stopped.

_Oh shit._

Quirrell was standing by himself, with an orange and black plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and nearly covering the lower half of his face. But Voldemort could tell it was him. His hands were stuffed in his jean pockets, and he looked kind of sad, which made Voldemort kind of sad. And Voldemort didn't like being sad. Angry, he could handle. But feeling sad just made him feel pathetic, and that would not do.

 _Talk to him,_ a voice whispered from the back of Voldemort's head.

_What? No! Are you fucking nuts? He probably thinks I'm weird! Also what the flippity flappity FUCK is he doing here._

_But just_ look _at him. He looks so lonely! I don't think anybody's talked to him yet. He probably doesn't even have any friends._

Voldemort chewed his lip, watching the brunette man. On the one hand, he vowed to never interact with him again. On the other... he looked really fucking adorable in that scarf, and so lonely...

Voldemort's fist clenched, and, before he could change his mind, he began to make his way over to the teacher.

Before he knew it he was standing in front of the man, or, rather, behind. Voldemort shifted on his feet awkwardly, before tapping the man's shoulder and coughing awkwardly. "Uh... _hey,_ _you_."

Quirrell nearly leapt out of his pants, flinching and whirling around to face Voldemort. Once he saw who it was, his eyes widened. "O-oh! Goodness, you scared me. Um... Voldemort, right? Voldemort Riddle?" He smiled, friendly but a bit hesitant.

Voldemort tried not to feel too disappointed at the uncertainty in the teacher's voice as he nodded. "Yeah! And you're Sq- _uh_ , Quirrell." He nodded again, this time more to himself. " _Quirrell_ , that's, uh... that's what I was gonna say."

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before both blurted out,

"I just wanted to say-"

"You look really good-"

Quirrell giggled nervously, while Voldemort coughed again. "Uh, you go first."

"Oh, uh... I just said that you look really good, um, like, your shirt and gloves." Had Quirrell's ears always been that red? The poor dude should've brought a hat or something, he must've been freezing.

Voldemort shifted a bit awkwardly. "Oh, uh, thanks. I just found the shirt in the back of my closet, my daughter made me wear it. It's a little small, but," He shrugged, in a what-can-ya-do kind of gesture.

Quirrell nodded a lot, a bit slowly, before shaking his head from side-to-side briskly, as if snapping himself out of something. He blinked at Voldemort, cheeks flushing pink slightly. " _Oh_. Um, what were you going to say? Before?"

The last time Voldemort had been subjected to the man's gaze, there'd been a large desk in between them. Now there was considerably less space separating him and the teacher's kind, doe-like shiny brown eyes, and Voldemort... wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. Voldemort had heard people say that some people had eyes so deep and just the right shade of blue that it felt like you were looking at the ocean, like you were about to fall in and drown or some corny shit like that. Well, it may have been some damn corny shit, but that was kind of how Voldemort felt about Quirrell's eyes, except they were, you know, brown. They just had some weird... liquidy quality to them, a strange smoothness; most people with brown eyes had flecks of gold or lighter brown in them, but Quirrell's eyes were just a pure dark brown. Yet despite their dark colour, they were oddly expressive, and glittered with a strange sort of intelligence, an understated cunning that hinted that the man was not to be underestimated.

Or some shit like that.

Anyways, Voldemort wasn't a fucking poet or anything. He just knew nice eyes when he saw them. They were like... chocolate, he guessed. Yeah, chocolate. If blue eyes were like the ocean, then brown eyes- or at least Quirrell's eyes- were like a big vat of warm chocolate fondue. Like, a huge public swimming pool, but instead of water it's just chocolate fondue. Fuck, that'd be cool.

And yeah, while Voldemort didn't know a whole hell of a lot (or anything, really) about writing, he did know that "chocolate brown" eyes was one of the most cliched descriptors. But fuck it if Quirrell wasn't the only person in the world deserving of that overused metaphor.

After five very long seconds, Voldemort realized that this was the part where he was supposed to speak and had to struggle for a moment to remember what he was going to say. "Oh! I just wanted to apologize for that weird thing the other day."

Quirrell's ears had gone even redder- wow, the guy must really be cold. "Oh, you... remember that." He said, a bit quietly.

"Yeah, anyways that was like... really weird, I didn't mean to honk at you, I just..." _Was mad at myself because I have such a big fucking obnoxious crush on you?_ " _Yeeeaaah_." He finished lamely. "Sorry I made you... drop all your books and shit."

Quirrell looked a bit surprised. "Oh, it's okay- my fault, really-"

"What? No way, I-"

"I was the one who dropped everyth-"

The two had begun to speak together again, and stopped abruptly. Voldemort glanced away awkwardly, while Quirrell chewed his lip.

Suddenly, Voldemort snorted, and began to laugh. "Fuck, we're ridiculous."

Quirrell couldn't help but laugh too. "We... we are," He agreed, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I'm- I'm not usually like this. I don't- I don't really talk to many people, aside from my students."

"What?" Voldemort's eyebrows shot up- he knew that this guy was probably an introvert or some shit, but... "What about other teachers? They don't _ever_ talk to you?"

Quirrell shook his head, still smiling. "No, like I said at the meeting, I was a bit of a nerd in high school. I didn't have any friends, not the whole four years. And I guess that just carried over into adulthood. I don't know." His smile shrank, and Voldemort instantly felt bad- why, he didn't know- before the teacher's face broke into a grin and he continued speaking. "Heh, I guess if you really wanted to make it up to me then you could keep me company for the rest of the carnival," The brown-haired man joked, chuckling to himself. "Seeing as how I don't really have anybody to talk to-"

"Yeah. Sure." Voldemort cut him off without missing a beat.

Quirrell looked at the man as if his nose had fallen clean off. "Um. What?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Why not? I don't have anything better to do."

Quirrell was still staring at him rather incredulously. "... _Me_? You want to hang out with _me_? Are you serious?"

"Hell yeah. It'll be fun."

Quirrell laughed again, a bit nervously this time. "Oh trust me, I'm not... _fun_. I'm, er..."

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow at him.

"...You're not going to let me go, are you?"

"Nope," Voldemort said with an evil grin.

Quirrell smiled, then said a bit shyly, despite the mischievous smile tugging at his lips, "You do this to all to all the teachers you give panic attacks to?"

"Only the-" _cute ones_ \- "dorky ones." He said instead, and winced internally a bit, hoping Quirrell wasn't insulted. But, come on, the dude was dorky. It wasn't a bad thing. ~~It was kinda cute.~~

Luckily, the teacher didn't seem to be offended as he hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "So this is your plan, eh? You sit out in the school parking lot after hours-"

" _Pfft_ -!"

"Waiting for unsuspecting teachers to come out-"

"Oh, _come on_ -" Voldemort was grinning.

"So you can honk at them and give them nightmares for weeks, is that it? And then you follow them around at social events under the guise of an 'apology'. Well, I'm sorry Mr. Riddle but I've been a high school teacher for four years and I can see your wicked plot a mile away, and quite frankly I've seen better from a bunch of pimply prepubescent thirteen-year-olds."

"Ah, but is it working?" Voldemort asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Quirrell smiled, and looked at Voldemort with a thoughtful sort of gleam in his eye. "Well, the idea of joining you for the evening doesn't sound entirely awful," He admitted teasingly.

Voldemort pumped his fist in the air. "I'll take that as a victory! Alright, where to?"

Quirrell shrugged sheepishly. "Oh, I have no idea. I've kind of just been standing around for ten minutes, avoiding human interaction."

Voldemort shrugged back. "Well, we could just kinda walk around for a bit."

Quirrell nodded, and the two of them began to walk around the field. They fell into a comfortable silence, which Voldemort soon found himself breaking.

"So..." He said as unsuspiciously as possible. "What brings you here? You don't seem like the volunteer type."

Quirrell sighed, though flashed him a small smile as he adjusted his scarf. "Well, I'm usually not. Social events in general aren't my thing, much less ones made up mostly of my students." He wrinkled his nose. "But I got a call about fifteen minutes ago- Debra Chapman, I think it was? She told me that one of the other volunteers- another teacher- had to drop out last minute, a family emergency or something. She asked me to fill in, and, well..." He shrugged. "Like I said, it's not usually my thing, but I figured it'd be better than staying at home and reading all night, y'know? I thought..." The brunette sighed again. "I don't know what I thought, really."

Voldemort frowned, deciding that the small, sad look that was now on Quirrell's face again was his least favorite Quirrell Facial Expression. He grinned as he resolved to get rid of it as soon as possible. "Well, it's good that you came. I'm h-" Voldemort blanched, and quickly backtracked. "I'm not the volunteer type myself either!" He coughed. "But, y'know, I'm with the PTA and all. So I kind of had to."

Quirrell let out a sudden laugh, though hastily made an admirable effort to conceal it with a sudden coughing fit. " _Ahem_. Excuse me. Uh, you're with the PTA? Wow, I wouldn't have..."

Voldemort grinned. "Yeah, I know. I wouldn't have either."

"It's just, I've heard... I mean, the carnival is lovely, everything they put on is, but..." Quirrell chewed his lip. "You know. I've heard things about the... _members_ , you see. They're a bit notorious. What made you..." He gestured vaguely with his hands.

Voldemort shrugged non-noncommittally. "Well, aside from a general passion for helping others and a desire to make the community a better place and shit, I, uh, had a run-in with one of the members." His voice dropped. "I figured the best way to get back at her was to beat her at her own game."

Quirrell regarded him with a small smile, eyebrows raised. "Impressive. And how are you doing so far?"

(Voldemort didn't like how that immediately became one of his favorite Quirrell Facial Expressions. Also, the fact that he had a list of his favorite Quirrell Facial Expressions in the first place.)

"Well, not to brag but the carnival was my idea. And it got passed on my first day." Voldemort couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. "And- _oh_!" He cut himself off as he noticed one of the booths, which was currently occupied only by the owner. "Ring toss! Wanna try?"

Quirrell shook his head. "Ah, I'm no good at these things. You go!"

Shrugging, Voldemort stepped up to the game, which consisted of a bunch of bottles on a table. The owner greeted them before handing him an orange hoop, and gestured to a line of tape plastered on the grass. Voldemort stepped just behind the line, and squinted at bottles. Taking a deep breath, he quickly flung the hoop towards the table, and it landed straight on one of the bottles near the front.

"Oh, sweet!" Voldemort whooped, unable to help his competitive spirit. Quirrell whistled, impressed, from beside him. "Oh my goodness, you _are_ good at this."

An odd feeling ran through Voldemort's chest at the sound of the other man's praise, and he forced himself to ignore it as he turned to the owner. "What'd I win?"

The owner took the hoop off the bottle, before holding it up and squinting at it, then showing it to Quirrell and Voldemort. It was transparent with a red liquid inside, and the label had a rather graphic image of someone with a bloody nose depicted on it. "Bloody nose. Also cherry."

Voldemort grabbed the bottle and took an experimental swig of it, before shrugging. "Not bad." Glancing over at a weirdly pink Quirrell, he suddenly turned to the man and said, "Hey, can I try again?"

The man blinked, before shrugging. "Alright." He handed Voldemort another ring.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort ignored Quirrell, and, after taking a few practice swings, hurled the hoop onto one of the bottles in the corner far left corner. The man's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and he went over to grab it. "Popped pimple. Also known as marshmallow." This label had a picture on it that- well, Voldemort really didn't feel like describing. Voldemort thanked the man and grabbed the bottle, before handing it to a surprised Quirrell. "Here," He said, a bit gruffly.

Quirrell looked at him in shock. "Wait, really?"

Voldemort nodded. "Yeah, sure. Don't want you dying of dehydration on me." Hesitantly, Quirrell unscrewed the bottle, wrinkling his nose at the label, and took a sip. His eyebrows shot up, and he gave Voldemort a thumbs up.

Voldemort grinned. "Sweet. Where to next?"

Quirrell hummed thoughtfully. "Hm, I think I saw a skee ball thing over there." He pointed. "But there's a bunch of kids there already."

Voldemort shrugged. "Yeah, so what? We're gonna run into them eventually." Quirrell gave him A Look, and Voldemort sighed. "C'mon, Quirrell, you're too good a guy not to have a bit of fun every once in a while! Just ignore them."

Quirrell and Voldemort headed over to the game, where a small line of kids stood, already playing. A couple of girls turned around to look at them, and a few giggled before hastily looking away when they saw Voldemort.

Voldemort rolled his eyes, then noticed the slight scowl on Quirrell's face. He sighed. "Don't worry, I'm kinda used to it," He muttered. "Doesn't bug me at this point."

Quirrell looked as though he was going to say something, only for the group of front of them to move away and the two to step forward. Voldemort looked to Quirrell, who gestured to him. "You go first."

Voldemort shrugged, before grabbing one of the balls. Aiming carefully, he hit the twenty-hole. Scowling, he grabbed the other one. Fifty. The next- Thirty. After thirty came a hundred, fifty, fifty, thirty, fifty and another hundred. The owner- a redheaded woman dressed in a sports jersey- whistled, impressed. "Four hundred and eighty! And for you..." She squinted at the prize display, tapping her chin before grabbing a stuffed purple squirrel with big sparkly gold eyes. "A squirrel!" She announced, handing it to Voldemort.

Quirrell sighed as he stepped up to the booth, accepting the balls the woman handed him. "Okay, I'm really bad at this," He told Voldemort. "I won't mind if you decide to abandon me now." He took a deep breath, before tossing the ball. Ten points. Ten again. Twenty followed, then thirty, two fifties, twenty, thirty, and a hundred.

"Three hundred and twenty, that's not bad!" Voldemort said as the woman grabbed Quirrell's prize- a stuffed white snake with a silky lavender underside, glittering red eyes and a pointy magenta tongue poking out of it's smirking mouth. Voldemort thought the snake was fucking adorable and not a metaphor for anything at all.

They continued on like that for around an hour and a half, wandering around, playing games and just talking. Voldemort absolutely wrecked all the teens at the games, and attracted a crowd a couple times, and Quirrell wasn't so bad himself. Voldemort won a couple more prizes, and had to start shoving them in the large pockets of his leather jacket.

Eventually, Quirrell glanced over across the field, and made a noise of surprise. "Oh, the pumpkin carving contest is starting!" He beamed, before glancing at Voldemort nervously. "Er, would you mind...?"

Voldemort laughed. "Hell no, man. If it makes you happy." The two made their way over, and Quirrell went to stand at a table while Voldemort grabbed two pumpkins- already emptied- from another, one under each arm.

"You know," Quirrell said as Voldemort heaved the pumpkins onto the table. "We haven't done much supervising. And are we even allowed to compete?"

Voldemort shrugged as he picked up a knife. "Eh, fuck it."

Quirrell hummed to himself as he picked up a black Sharpie. _Shit, he has a really pretty voice,_ Voldemort thought offhandedly. "I wonder what the prizes are." He looked at Voldemort. "Oh, you aren't going to draw a design first?"

Voldemort scoffed. "Uh, no!" He then looked a bit unsure. "Wait, should I?"

Quirrell giggled. "I mean, I'd suggest it, yeah." He gave Voldemort a curious look. "Wait, have... have you never done this before?"

Voldemort almost laughed at the thought. If only Quirrell knew how much of this stuff he hadn't done before... Instead of following his urge to vent about the Scrooges that ran his orphanage, he shrugged defensively. "I-I mean, yeah, _maybe_. So what?"

Quirrell just shrugged. "Oh no, no reason. Less competition for me, I suppose." He whistled innocently.

Voldemort scowled, gripping his knife. "Oh, it's on."

Nearly half an hour later, they were finally finished. Quirrell sighed in relief as he set down his carving knife. "Aaaand done! Wow, that actually didn't turn out half bad. And-" He glanced over at Voldemort's pumpkin, and his cheeks puffed out as he tried to hold in his laughter. He didn't entirely succeed. " _Pfft_."

Voldemort stared at him, his expression unamused though his eyes glinted with amusement. "Go on. Say it."

" _Iiiiiit's_... not bad," Quirrell said brightly, and _fuck_ when he looked at Voldemort like that Voldemort couldn't bring himself to even pretend to be mad. "I mean, it's not like you've done this before. It's good for your first time!"

Voldemort groaned. "Don't you dare use your patronizing teacher voice on me. It looks like crap. But screw it, I like it."

"And that's all that matters!" Quirrell said in his most patronizing teacher voice.

Voldemort's eyebrows shot up, and he cackled. " _Fuck_ , you can be a little shit when you wanna be!" ~~And he kind of liked it.~~

Quirrell blushed furiously and began to stammer, before Voldemort waved him off. "Nah, I don't mind. But seriously, yours is really good."

Quirrell shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Eh, it's not my best. The lines are uneven, and I messed up a bit on the left eye."

Voldemort squinted- he could not see either of those things, but nodded as if he understood what the hell the brunette was talking about. "Well, whatever. It's just for fun, right?"

Quirrell nodded.

Suddenly, Voldemort's face brightened, and he let out a whoop. "And now comes my favorite part!" Rubbing his hands together, he flashed Quirrell an evil grin. "I think you'll like this."

* * *

"I really do not like this," Quirrell moaned, hanging his head. "I'm literally so weak. I have zero muscle mass, I _cannot_ do this."

"You'll be fine!" Voldemort reassured. "Here, I'll do mine first so I can show you how it's done." The two men were currently standing in the pumpkin smashing area, goggles on their faces, baseball bats in their hands and Jack-o-Lanterns on the ground in front of them. "Now, keep in mind this first part isn't for newbs-" Kicking the pumpkin lightly, Voldemort managed to get it balanced on the top of his foot, and with a grunt flung it high into the air. Reeling back, he whipped the baseball bat into the pumpkin midair, making a popping noise as a large crack appeared and some juice and pumpkin guts sprayed out. "-so I recommend you skip this." The pumpkin landed back on the ground, a bit of juice leaking out of it, and Voldemort spread his legs, adjusted his grip on the bat, leaned back and continued to smash it, again and again. Bits of pumpkin exploded out from the impact, and he continued to rain his bat down on the pumpkin until it was a puddle of mush. He turned to Quirrell with a grin, bits of pumpkin in his hair and on his clothing. "See?"

Quirrell was staring at him with an odd look on his face, before he blinked and shook himself out of it. "Oh, uh- yeah! So, um, I just..." Staring down at his own pumpkin, he narrowed his eyes and bit his lip, raising his bat slowly...

"No, no!" Voldemort waved his hands frantically. "Here, I'll show you." He sighed, then went over to Quirrell and stood behind him.

"First of all, your stance is all wrong-" Lightly, he nudged Quirrell's feet apart, and the man relented and spread his legs even further. "One hand should be below the other. No, like- _like_ -" He sighed, then reached forward around Quirrell and put his hands on the bat in the correct position. A jolt of electricity zapped through his body as he felt their hands brush. "Like this." Voldemort pulled his hands away a bit so Quirrell could adjust his own, and then Voldemort placed his over Quirrell's. "Okay, lower your shoulders- that's it- and bring the bat up." Voldemort helped Quirrell guide the bat up into the air. "Okay, good," Voldemort said, satisfied. He then frowned, noting that the man in front of him was oddly quiet. "Uh, you okay?"

"Yeah!" Quirrell's voice was a bit high-pitched, but Voldemort dismissed it as nothing. He stepped away. "Okay, now just... swing. Have at it."

Quirrell took a deep breath, then brought the back down. Hard. " _Agh_!" Pumpkin juice exploded up from his bat, spritzing him in his face. Scowling, Quirrell raised the bat and smacked it down again, and chunks of pumpkin smacked him in the goggles. "Do-" Again. "Your-" Again. "HOMEWORK!" Again and again he hit the pumpkin as he yelled, until it was nothing but a pile of goo.

Finally Quirrell's arms slumped, and he sighed, before looking over at Voldemort with a sheepish grin. "I... overdid it a bit, didn't I?"

Voldemort took a good thirty seconds to collect his jaw off the ground before he replied hurriedly. "No, no, you did... great! Shit, dude."

_Alright, time to add "beating the shit out of a pumpkin while screaming about being late to class and talking during lessons" as weird shit I'm into._

Afterwards, Quirrell and Voldemort wandered around the carnival some more, before things began to die down and people began to pack up. Quirrell and Voldemort found themselves sneaking away from the carnival and heading towards a hill still on the school grounds.

"Where- where are we going?" Quirrell giggled as he followed Voldemort. "Voldemort, when I said I wanted to get away from the crowd for a bit I meant, like, go to the parking lot or something. We are literally going in the complete opposite direction of that."

"Relax," Voldemort told his companion as they trekked up the hill. "Besides, this is around the time some people are starting to head off. People are starting to get in their cars, the parking lot's gonna start filling up too. _I_ am being smart."

"Oh, _are_ you now?" Quirrell asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. And- oh, _now_ we're fucking cooking. Here we are!" Voldemort announced, spinning around once he reached the top of the hill. He sat down, and Quirrell followed, a bit hesitantly.

"This is a hill." Quirrell said.

"Yes," Voldemort agreed.

"It... is a very nice hill," Quirrell offered.

"It is," Voldemort agreed. Truthfully, he thought it was just another lump in the ground. He just wanted to go somewhere alone with Quirrell.

 _Ooooooooooh,_ said the annoying voice in the back of Voldemort's head.

 _Eat my ass,_ Voldemort told it.

"Ooh, a flower!" Voldemort heard Quirrell gasp beside him, and he looked over to see Quirrell plucking a yellow flower from the ground close by. The teacher brought it to his face, eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled in the scent deeply. Voldemort found himself studying the man's face, and quickly looked away just before his eyes opened again.

"So. Teaching." Voldemort said, a bit awkwardly.

"Yep."

"...why?"

Quirrell shrugged, then looked pensive. Voldemort waited patiently as the other man collected his thoughts.

"A lot of reasons, to be honest," Quirrell said, carefully. "It felt right. And I've kind of been doing it since before it became official- even when I was a kid I'd help other people in my class, or younger students, with work and stuff. And... I don't know, my teachers weren't very good."

Voldemort snorted. "And that motivated you to become one?"

"Well, yeah." Quirrell stroked the petals of the flower with the pad of his thumb. "I wanted to be better. I... I never wanted another kid to feel the way I did." He looked up at Voldemort, eyes soft with a foreign sort of emotion. "Alone. Like the world was against me. Wrong, somehow, for being smarter and more hardworking than the rest. Wrong for caring about what they said about me, what they did to me."

It struck Voldemort what that emotion was. Vulnerability. Quirrell probably hadn't told anybody this before. "They... they didn't care when you told them you were being bullied," He guessed.

Quirrell nodded, ever-so-slightly. "Told me to get over it. Told me it was just a part of high school. Told me if I made myself less of a target, it'd stop. They... they even participated in it, sometimes."

Voldemort couldn't help but feel incredibly guilty at that moment, because that had been him. Only he hadn't been Quirrell; he'd been the bully.

"I'm... I'm sorry," He said, and winced at how little of his sympathy that actually conveyed.

Quirrell shrugged. "It's alright. It..." He sighed, taking in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. "It motivated me, y'know? Made me who I am."

"I like who you are," Voldemort said honestly. "But I still think that shouldn't have happened to you."

Quirrell was silent, and Voldemort took a moment to study him and realized that the man was shaking slightly. He looked at his ears and face, and noticed both were reddened.

"You're cold," Voldemort muttered. "Jesus fuck, why didn't you tell me?"

Quirrell glanced at him, startled. "Oh, I- it- it isn't that important, I can just-"

"Shut up," Voldemort said, scowling at him at he took off his jacket. He draped it over Quirrell's shoulders a bit awkwardly. "Here. Put it on."

Hesitantly, Quirrell put his arms through the jacket, and pulled it tighter around him. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment at the warmth. The ends of Voldemort's mouth tugged up into a crooked smile as he looked at the man, who, oddly enough, didn't look half bad in the black leather jacket. Huh. He actually kinda liked how he looked in it.

Voldemort looked back towards the carnival in the field, and in the corner of his eye he saw Quirrell do the same.

"I was meaning to ask," Quirrell spoke up suddenly. "Is Mu doing okay?"

Voldemort's brow furrowed in concern at the teacher's question, but nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Quirrell nodded thoughtfully, then looked as though he were about to say something, though apparently decided against it as he returned his gaze to the field.

A few moments passed before Quirrell spoke again, a bit quieter this time. "You know... you're actually a lot like her, I think." Quirrell looked at Voldemort. "Witty. Kind and compassionate, and-"

Voldemort snorted. "I'm none of those things, trust me. Especially not the nice part."

Quirrell just hummed, and the two of them fell silent again.

Then,

"I had fun," The brunette spoke softly as he gazed at the stars above. "Thank you. Nobody has ever done this for me."

"Be nice to to you?" Voldemort said and meant it jokingly, and so was thrown off guard by the seriousness and honesty with which Quirrell replied. "Yes."

The two men sat like that on the hill for a while in a comfortable sort of silence, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the laughter and various other noises coming from the carnival.

 _This year might just be alright,_ Voldemort thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adjfd i know this seems like the opposite of slow burn rn but i swear quirrell and voldemort are a bunch of dumbasses who will literally take the entire year to get together. this chapter was an anomaly. also dw mu was just hanging out with her friends/spying on quirrellmort very subtly


	6. ugh so much dialogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa sorry it's been a while! school's been kicking my ass lately, but i've been adjusting slowly and i'm gonna be getting back into the swing of things pretty soon.

**✘ CHAPTER FIVE.**

november 1 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

Voldemort had sunk to a new gay low.

It all started with Mu; she had mentioned the other day that Quirrell had said that they were going to start reading Pride and Prejudice in their next unit and they _might_ watch it at the end if the class was good or something. Mu said she suspected the class could start coming in with six packs of beer instead of binders and build desk forts the entire lesson and not do any work for two weeks and they’d still watch it because Quirrell really fucking loved Pride and Prejudice, and he was more excited than the students to watch it.

Voldemort may have been a big gay (well, bi) fool with a big gay crush, but underneath all that he was still Voldemort, and of all the (weird and probably humiliating) shit he was willing to do for his dumb fucking crush, reading a two hundred year old stuffy, flowery, pretentious English novel didn’t quite make the cut. So, he did what he’d been doing since sixth grade; he watched the movie instead.

(Apparently there was a movie and a mini-series, but he decided to watch the movie because it was shorter, and there couldn’t have been _that_ much of a difference between them, right?)

And it… actually wasn’t that bad? Voldemort had a hard time trying to figure out what the fuck they were saying, and it was kind of boring in some parts, but the actress had these amazing brown eyes and this cute little pout and resembled Quirrell just enough to keep Voldemort’s interest piqued. The guy was kind of underwhelming, though. Wasn't he supposed to be all dark and mysterious? Eh, whatever. He ended up falling asleep as soon as the credits started rolling, and that was where the trouble began.

Voldemort blinked into darkness, and opened his eyes to find himself staring out at a big, beautiful lake that was surrounded by trees. The air shimmered with heavy rain and a distinctly dream-like sort of distortion, and whenever he tried to focus on a particular part of the (admittedly gorgeous) scenery it began to waver and morph, like pavement on a hot summer's day. Voldemort could feel his chest heaving up and down, his lungs burning for air, and he felt as if he had just ran a marathon. He was leaning against a wall, he realized, or something similar- it was damp with rain and scraping at his back. Voldemort was filled with a weakening sort of complacency that usually accompanied dreams, and in his disassociative state found his eyes begin to drift over to the left, only to see a big black shape appear in the corner of his eye.

"Jesus shitting _fuck_!" Voldemort cursed, nearly jumping out of his skin as he jolted away from the wall, fists raised defensively. Voldemort, now significantly less calm, came face to face with...

A moody, mediocre-looking man with stringy hair in an uncomfortable-looking get-up who looked like this was the first time he'd ever talked to another human being in his life.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said. "I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer."

Voldemort lowered his arms, nose wrinkling in confusion. _Who?_

Then, Voldemort was struck with realization.

 _Oh fuck,_ he thought to himself miserably. _Not this movie. I said it wasn't that bad, not that it was_ good _._

"These past months have been a torment," Mr. Darcy continued. He was speaking weirdly quickly and looked like he was desperately trying not to shit himself. "I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you. I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgement, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance. All of these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony."

 _Oh boo-hoo,_ Voldemort thought, just as unimpressed with the extremely average looking man standing before him as he had been while watching the movie.

Feeling some weird compulsion to go along with the scene, Voldemort sighed rather loudly, knowing what was coming next. "I don't understand." He said, trying to afflict his tone with the utmost exhaustion and disinterest.

"Iloveyou-"

_Who gives a shit._

"-... most _ardently_." Mr Darcy completed, saying the last word in a really weird way, like he'd just busted a nut but was really pissed about it.

Voldemort was just about ready to will himself with all his might to wake up- come on, if he has to dream about this (admittedly not... awful) movie he can at least dream about the cute girl or something- before he heard a familiar, distinct voice ring out, "Oh, I'll tell you what _else_ is ardent."

Mr. Darcy's wet, plain face twitched in annoyance. Voldemort looked behind him to see a familiar figure lounging on a tree branch, draw-me-like-one-of-your-french-girls style, clothes somehow not soaked from the rain.

"My _loins_ , baby," Quirrell purred, voice somehow still audible from twenty yards away over the pouring rain and annoying dramatic music in the background. "Whenever I look at you."

Voldemort gulped. Somehow, his dream self thought that was the smoothest damn thing he'd ever heard. Actually, if Quirrell in the real world whipped that out on him he'd probably find it pretty damn hot, too.

Mr. Darcy, to his credit, attempted to continue after that, his brow furrowed slightly as he attempted to ignore the man behind him. "Please, do me the honor of accepting my hand."

"Oh, I'd accept a hand from you... a hand _y_." Quirrell punctuated another pathetic pick-up line with a wink, now standing on the ground in front of the tree.

Sweat dripped down Voldemort's temples. Shit, who was this debonair casanova haunting his dreams with his smooth moves and sweet talk and what had he done with dorky little Quirrell?

Mr. Darcy scowled, glancing over his shoulder irritably with his boring brown eyes. "E- _excuse_ me, we are _trying_ to have a romantic moment here." He gestured towards Voldemort. "You may continue."

 _And you may eat my ass._ Voldemort grouched internally, wanting nothing more than to pin Quirrell against that tree and kiss his cute little neck, but for some reason he felt obligated to continue saying his lines. "Sir, I appreciate the struggle that you have gone through." He said through gritted teeth with as little emotion as he could manage. "And I am very sorry to have caused you pain... believe me, it was unconsciously done."

Suddenly, Quirrell was standing farther away from the tree. "Voldy, if _you_ caused me pain you wouldn't have to apologize." He said, his very soft-looking lips curling into a predatory grin. Mr. Darcy shut his eyes and groaned loudly in frustration, hand massaging his forehead. Voldemort felt like he was unable to break away from the sparkly brown-eyed gaze of the literal man of his dreams.

"Hey, Voldemort," Quirrell continued, his voice kind of sing-songy and wow he should NOT be able to make Voldemort's name sound that hot. "Don't you want to make me... _struggle_?"

Voldemort gulped. If anybody else were to say these... little nuggets to him he'd probably bust out laughing. But this was Quirrell (kind of), and Quirrell could probably tell him a knock-knock joke and he'd find it attractive.

Quirrell's eyes went down to Voldemort's throat, and an amused smile gently tugged at his mouth, and suddenly he was standing right behind Mr. Darcy, who looked as if he were about to storm off ranting straight into the lake. "Don't you want to hold me against my desk and make all those cliched smutty romance novels I probably definitely secretly read seem like kid's books?"

Voldemort's mouth fell open and he let out a noise that resembled a dying cat.

Suddenly, Quirrell reached out and touched Mr. Darcy's flabby unexceptional arm. There was an odd wooshing sound- well, not a sound, exactly, more like a deep sort of feeling- then quick as a flash the disappointing Mr. Darcy had disappeared and in his place (and in his outfit) was Quirrell. Quirrell's perfect skin was wet and glistening from the rain, as were his dampened, darkened cute little curls.

Quirrell smiled at Voldemort, stepping closer. "Don't you just want to grab me by my tie and make me forget everybody who's never fully appreciated me for the adorable and smart person I am?"

Voldemort was unable to speak, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the dream making him mute or because of how close Quirrell was. The music had stopped. When had the music stopped? Quirrell moved closer. Voldemort wasn't even sure if it was raining anymore.

" _Come_ on, Voldemort," Quirrell leaned in, his voice low and breathy. Voldemort could see the raindrops glistening on his long lashes, trailing down his angelic face and onto his lips. Voldemort then realized how, while everything else in the dream was slightly off- colours and angles were different in certain places, and details were missing, and Mr. Darcy was slightly more meager looking- Quirrell's dumb beautiful face was absolutely perfect and true to life.

"One word from you will silence me forever. One word, or..." Quirrell placed two long, elegant fingers on Voldemort's still-as-a-statue chest and began to 'walk' them upwards idly. " _One_... _little_... _kiss_." With each syllable Quirrell's voice grew quieter and his face came closer, and with the last word Quirrell's breath was puffing out in warm clouds against Voldemort's lips. His fingers reached Voldemort's chin and he gripped it gently, tilting the man's head and gazing directly into his eyes.

"Just do it already, Riddle." Quirrell whispered, eyes half-lidded and a ghost of a lazy grin on his lips. And Voldemort didn't know when this dream went from funny-but-hot to terrifyingly-hot, but he did know that this was a dream and would probably just make reality all the more shitty to deal with, the reality where he'd had like two conversations with Quirrell and his love was almost certainly unrequited, and with that in mind he pressed his lips against Quirrell desperately.

* * *

After waking up in a pool of his own sweat and barely a recollection of his dreams the night before (something about pretty brown eyes and back slivers and mediocre men getting in the way of true love), Voldemort crawled out of bed and went downstairs, drowning his sorrows in a cup of coffee.

It was November now, and Halloween had gone pretty okay- Mu went as a cute little candy corn witch and hung out with her buddies all night, and Voldemort stayed at home, put on the scariest mask he had, and gave out candy to the kids who didn't run away screaming when he opened the door. Mu did pretty good this year, and when she came home she snuck up into her room and put all the Snickers in one bag and told Voldemort that was her haul for the year. Voldemort nearly went into a Rage until she told him, through very costume-appropriate cackles, that she was just messing with him. Mu had been pulling that shit every Halloween since Voldemort had told her he despised the stuff, and he both regretted telling her about his hatred of the damn candy, didn't know why he fell for it every year, and was kind of sort of a lot proud.

Also, much to Voldemort's total _not_ -surprise, he got laid off from the grocery store for some dumb excuse he didn't really care to listen to. He started working more hours at the gas station, but tried to time them so they were during school hours- he hated the thought of leaving Mu alone at night. Sure, the kid could handle herself, but he still worried about her. He always worried about her.

Unfortunately, today the only shift available was the evening shift, but Voldemort planned on texting Mu to make sure she was doing okay and all that jazz (and also maybe gossip about the cool/freaky people that came in). This also meant that Voldemort was stuck at home all day, and for some reason his mind was particularly fixated on Quirrell, who he hadn't talked to since the 27th. So, when him and Mu got back home after school, he very casually and not-at-all suspiciously asked about him.

"Hey," He started awkwardly as he fiddled with his keys by the counter, Mu taking off her shoes and coat just inside the door. "Um. How's Quirrell doing?"

Voldemort immediately regretted everything ever as his daughter turned around to look at him with an ear-splitting grin on her face, coat in her hands. " _What_ did you just say?"

_I don't know how I fucked up, but I did._

"Uh... _hawqwadoon_." Voldemort muttered into his shoulder.

"Pardon?"

"... _Howeeqwererdoin_."

"Speak up, pops!"

"HOW'S QUIRRELL DOING." Voldemort blurted out, enunciating loudly as a flush spreading over his cheeks.

Mu cocked an eyebrow. " _Oooooh_. Since when is he Quirrell and not Squirrel?"

Voldemort thought fast. "Since I stopped being immature." He said as sincerely as possible. Mu laughed. Voldemort nodded to himself in understanding; he should've known that was too unrealistic.

Mu finished hanging up her coat and turned around to look at her father, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Or is it since you guys hung out at the Halloween Carnival?"

"Alright, you constantly bringing that up is...." Voldemort wracked his brain. "Uh. Bi _phobic_ -"

"Actually I'm pretty sure I'm bi or pan."

"And I love and support you and how fucking cool is it that we're the same high five-" The two shared a high-five. "But there is absolutely nothing between me and Quirrell, he feels nothing for me and that pumpkin smashing thingie was very platonic."

"Just two bros smashing pumpkins together-"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Just two... uh... man buddies demolishing squashes, as pals do-"

"Glad you agree."

"Just two, y'know, um, adult male amiable friendship comrades-"

"Yep, that's what we are."

"-standing right behind the other and tenderly holding the other's hand and whispering into their ear lovingly and showing off to the other-"

"This is all very true." Voldemort nodded, before something clicked in his brain, and he pointed a finger at Mu accusingly. "Wait no that did _not_ happen! And how'd you fucking know about it?"

Mu sauntered over into the kitchen where a bright-red Voldemort was currently standing, and hopped up to sit on the counter. "I have my ways," Mu said in a sing-song voice, beaming. "Also me and Al were partnered up and we saw you guys."

Voldemort sputtered for a moment, before gathering himself. "I was helping his technique!" He protested. "No tenderness whatsoever."

Mu shrugged, grabbing an apple from the bowl beside her and taking a bite out of it. "Well, maybe you should tell him that because he was blushing like crazy."

Voldemort rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "No, he was not. He was probably just red from the cold or something- he looked kinda pinkish the entire time, especially on the hill. Guy probably just has shitty circulation."

Mu looked at him oddly for a moment, before shrugging and continuing to munch on her apple smugly. "If you say so."

" _Now_ ," Voldemort pointed at his daughter. "Enough about me and my love life that does not exist. How are you doing? How's school and all that shit?"

Mu took a very large bite of her apple, and Voldemort waited patiently as she chewed. "Um," She said after swallowing. "It's pretty good. I don't think I'm failing anything."

Voldemort nodded. "That's always good."

Mu cocked her head curiously. "Huh. Interesting answer. How would you feel if I was?"

Voldemort shrugged, and decided to take a seat on the counter too, across from Mu. "Uh, I dunno. I mean, not mad. I'm pretty sure I was on the verge of failing every class at some point in my high school career, besides gym. Like, even the shit I was good at. When I was your age I had a lot of issues, and I got in trouble for behavioral stuff a lot. Me and my friends did a lot of shit that- well, that's not important. Also, I thought I was too good to actually show up to class all the time, and turns out even if you know your shit so well you don't have to go to class they can still fail you for not going. And since a lot of times I definitely didn't know my shit so well I didn't have to go to class I was doubly screwed. So it'd be a bit hypocritical of me to get all pissy with you."

Mu nodded, looking very interested. "So, what did you do? You and your friends, I mean. I'm not looking for inspiration, I promise."

Voldemort grinned lopsidedly, and opened his mouth before freezing. He leveled an accusing glare at Mu. "Hey! This isn't Voldemort-talk, this is Mu-talk, aka _you_ -talk. I know redirection when I see it, kid." Mu shrugged, avoiding her father's eyes. Voldemort's voice and gaze softened. "Seriously. Is something going on? I want to know how you're doing."

Mu shrugged again. "Fine. Like I said, I'm doing good in all my classes."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I know you're doing good in all your classes. That's not what I meant. You and your friends- are you all alright?"

Mu nodded. "Oh yeah, we're fine! Al's going through some stuff at home with his dad, and we're all a bit worried about him. That's all."

"Okay..." Voldemort thought hard- that could be it... but no, there had to be something else. "What about your not-friends?"

Mu looked rather confused. "Hm?"

"Y'know, kids at school who aren't your friends. Are they being nice?"

Mu gave him a Look. "We're teenagers, dad. I don't think many of us are very 'nice.'"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

Mu took another big bite of her apple. Thirty crunch-filled seconds passed by before she answered. "Yeah, sure, they're great."

"What about that kid, uh, fucking, Billbo Douchebaggins or some shit? Linda's kid?" Voldemort pressed. "You've mentioned him before, said he was a real ass. He doesn't seem all that 'great'."

"Yeah, Billy's rotten, but other than that everyone's super." Mu said casually. "Well, not _super_. I dunno. People keep to their friends."

Voldemort raised both eyebrows this time. "And what about Billy's friends? They keeping to each other pretty good?"

Mu took another big bite of her apple, but nodded enthusiastically.

"Hm." Well, shit. Voldemort had reached a dead end- or at least right now he had. Maybe he could try and chat with her again next week or something? Shit, Voldemort wished he knew more about this emotional support fuckery.

Mu swallowed, then grinned. " _Sooo_ , is the interrogation over?"

Voldemort grinned back, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, sure. And it wasn't an interrogation. I just feel like I haven't... talked to you for a while."

Mu looked at him for a moment, something sympathetic in her eyes. "Hey. You're doing great." Her voice was kind of soft.

"Yeah, I know." Voldemort scoffed, then winced at how that came out. "Well, no. _Well_ -" His shoulders sagged and he sighed. "I-I don't know. I'm making this shit up as I go along, Mu. You know I've never had anybody who really was a... _parent_ to me." _Except for..._

Mu gave him another strange look, and looked like she wanted to say something, but decided against it. She smiled at him. "Well, you're doing pretty damn good. At least I think so. And that's all that matters, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Voldemort muttered, before looking up with a grin again. "Alright, you're dismissed. Go, uh, do teen stuff. But maybe homework first if you have it."

* * *

Later, Voldemort was sitting in his room, lying on his bed and tossing one of the skeleton gloves into the air absentmindedly. He really needed to talk to Quirrell again. It'd only been five days, but still. On Halloween the two had become sort of... friends. And if Voldemort couldn't date the guy, friendship was the next best thing. But how was he supposed to talk to him again? He only came to the carnival because a chaperone dropped out at the last minute, and he said he didn't usually do that kind of stuff. So he probably wouldn't chaperone at a PTA event again- unless he was, like, crushing on one of the PTA members and came to stalk them or something. Ha! Voldemort almost laughed out loud. Unlikely. The guy didn't seem like the type to crush on gossipy middle-aged moms.

Should Voldemort, like... walk into his classroom after school? And then what? Ask for his number? Fuck no. Should he try and "accidentally" run into him at the grocery store or something? What if this guy did all his shopping online and never leaves his house except for work?

God. Voldemort didn't wasn't nearly as nervous when he was dating Bella- _Bellatrix_. Bellatrix, shit. Jeez, it'd been over three years, you'd think he'd have stopped calling her by her nickname by now.

Anyways. With Bellatrix Lestrange, Notorious Criminal who was currently behind bars, he wasn't nervous. He didn't think nearly this much about anything he did with her- actually, he didn't really think at all. He just kind of... did. He was spontaneous, and so was Bellatrix, and she must've dug that because she stuck with him for a long, long time.

And it helped that Bellatrix was always super obvious about her thing for him, and their relationship was romantic for most of their time together. With Quirrell, he was just trying to focus on being the guy's friend since he doubted the guy was even into dudes, much less him. And Voldemort hadn't ever needed to try to make friends before (if you could call the members of his little gang 'friends'). Bella and Lucius gravitated to him on his first day of school, and later on people just started hanging out with him because of his reputation. And ever since Voldemort reformed, he hadn't made any other friends because most people tended to annoy him. The idea of actually having to work to develop relationships with people was very new to him, and like most other things in life he'd never been taught how.

 _Quirrell._ Voldemort let out the most disgusting sigh he'd ever heard and didn't even have the heart the hate himself for it. He barely even knew the guy, but from what he knew of him he was so- _so_ \- agh. It was hard to describe. Like, he was just so cute and pretty, which Voldemort didn't even know he was into, but he was figuring a lot of things out lately. He had this dumb fluffy hair that just- and these stupid eyes- and his nose was nice. His _nose_. Voldemort didn't know one could have a thing for noses but apparently he had a thing for Quirrell's. And his hands! Why were his hands so nice? They were all big and elegant and shit, and he had these really long and nice fingers that'd be good for playing the piano. Did he play the piano? Probably.

And it wasn't just how he looked- obviously. It was like... he was so sweet. And shy. And dorky. But also really smart and witty, and so seriously underappreciated. And Voldemort knew it was dumb to presume he knew anything about the guy after meeting him twice, but he felt like he knew so much about him. Not like he was simple or an open book or anything, but like Voldemort already knew him, like in a past life or some shit. And he just felt... not familiar, exactly, but comforting. Like home, but not the kind of home Voldemort had ever had.

Voldemort had known this guy for sixteen days and he was already daydreaming about him. He watched Pride and Prejudice for him, for fuck's sake. What was _wrong_ with him?

And-

Voldemort froze, and barely noticed as the glove landed on his closed mouth. He'd just heard a really weird noise coming from Mu's room that sounded almost like...

He lay there, still for a moment, then after a few seconds heard it again. As noiselessly as possible he tossed the glove aside, quickly sat up in bed, and crept out of his room, dread sinking in rapidly.

Moving silently down the hall, Voldemort felt like he was floating out of his body or some shit as he heard the noises grow louder as he grew closer to Mu's door, which was pushed nearly shut with a small open gap.

Voldemort paused outside of Mu's door, and leaned against the wall. His blood ran cold as the little distance between them now confirmed his suspicions.

Mu was _crying_.

Gnawing at his lip, Voldemort raised his fist to the door, before pausing and lowering it. Carefully, but still trying to make enough noise to warn her of his presence, he pushed open the door.

Mu was sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by mountains of tissues. She was bent over, head in her lap and hands covering her head. Her shoulders were shaking, and though her hair and hands were covering her face Voldemort could hear her choked sobs.

Feeling quite numb, Voldemort stepped inside Mu's room. Mu's head whipped up, revealing her reddened, puffy, tear-stained face. "Dad!" She sniffled, eyes widened in horror. " _Oh geez_ \- _it's_ \- _I'm_ \- _sorry_ -"

Before Mu could finish her sentence, Voldemort was sitting on the bed beside her, an arm around her and a new tissue box, grabbed from her dresser, in her lap. "It's okay," He heard himself say, which was a big fat lie because he wasn't okay and was actually filled with an odd mix of murderous rage at whatever or whoever had made Mu cry and a horrible sort of debilitating sadness that he'd never felt before, and Mu obviously wasn't okay judging by the emptied Kleenex box at her side.

Voldemort really wasn't good at emotional shit or helping people, and resisted the urge to bombard Mu with questions and just sat there, his arms around her as she sobbed into his chest. Chin resting on top of her head, he stared at the wall, eyes betraying his inner emotions.

Voldemort was officially _pissed_.

* * *

After Mu had calmed down, Voldemort comforted her for a while until her face cleared up and she looked to be all better. He offered to stay home from work, but she told him she was alright, and she actually seemed to be too, so Voldemort went in, which he couldn't help but regret as soon as he walked out the door.

Now, Voldemort sat on a stool at the counter of the gas station, magazine in hands and eyes staring blankly down at his lap.

Voldemort had fucked up.

He didn't know why or how or when, but he had. He must've. Mu was upset and didn't tell him. Mu was upset, period. What had made her cry? _Who_ had made her cry? It better not have been a who.

Voldemort didn't ask her any questions. It didn't seem like the right time. But now he was stuck here for four hours at this shitty dirty gas station reading this shitty dirty magazine wondering why he was such a shitty dirty dad. He could probably text her, but he still felt like it was too soon, and texting wasn't the way to deal with this.

_Fuck._

How badly had he messed up that his kid didn't even think she could tell him when she was feeling down? He didn't mind her crying in her room- nobody wants to cry in front of other people- but she could have told him earlier that she was feeling upset. He could have.... Voldemort's shoulders slumped. He didn't know what he could've done.

And he wondered why his daughter didn't talk to him about this- he didn't even fucking know how to deal with this.

Voldemort sighed, and heard the door chime. He straightened up and put the magazine down, opting for another with a cover that would probably not warrant getting fired if his boss saw him reading it. He heard the familiar laughter and chatter that accompanied most hoards of teenaged customers that frequented the establishment.

As he mentally critiqued Cosmopolitan's 60 Crazy Sex Tips That'll Drive Him Wild, Voldemort heard the teens, who were messing around in the back, burst into laughter all of a sudden. He glanced over at them- there was two athletic looking blonde boys, a brunette girl, a blonde girl, and a boy with strawberry blonde hair.

"I still can't get over that," One of the blonde boys was saying. " _God_. Never gets old."

"We should be careful, though," The brunette girl said, toying with her earrings. "Like, I know it's fun and easy and all, but we could get in shit."

The blonde chick rolled her eyes. Voldemort could hear her smacking her gum all the way from the counter. "Chill. We've been okay so far. Nobody's done anything yet, and nobody's about to."

Voldemort stifled a groan. Ah. Young shoplifters. Christ, you'd think kids these days would have some subtlety, some respect for the craft. This was... _embarrassing_.

Voldemort listened to the kids giggle and whisper among themselves, occasionally glancing at them in the security footage, though very halfheartedly. He was having a bad day, so if the little tykes managed to sneak out a candy bar or an Archie or some shit, good on them.

Soon enough the group was coming up to the counter, still tittering together. They handed him a pack of Pepsi and some bags of chips, and he did his thing. They didn't make small talk, and neither did Voldemort. Eventually they were headed out the door, and Voldemort returned back to staring blankly at the magazine. After a few moments of silence in the shop, Voldemort sighed and pulled out his phone.

**THE KID**

  how u doin

_sent: 7:45 pm_

Good !

_sent: 7:47 pm_

cool

_sent: 7:47_

♥

_sent: 7:55_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope u enjoyed this chapter ! also i nearly had to change the rating for the first part rip (also can u tell what i thought of the 2005 p&p movie)


	7. owo sowwy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took like fifty fuckign years and tis poop but enjoy some voldetitties

**✘ CHAPTER SIX.**

november 15 2017

semester 1

term 1

❀ ☠ ❀

Voldemort didn't ask Mu about her little breakdown.

Some might say this made him a bad father, but it was pretty clear she didn't want to talk about it. Even though they weren't technically blood-related and she'd only been staying with him since she was eight, Voldemort recognised a lot of himself in the kid. Like how they dealt with their problems- bottle them up and pretend they don't exist for as long as possible until everything just inevitably explodes out of them in a big chaotic embarrassing emotional display, pretend it never happened and ignore any attempts to bring it up, then rinse and repeat because the Riddles are nothing if not incredibly stubborn and set in their self-destructive ways.

Mu was a lot smarter than Voldemort and his dumb family, though. She seemed to actually be acknowledging... whatever was bugging her, if only in her own mind. She was quieter. Pensive. Had this look on her face a lot, too, with one brow furrowed and teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek, that she got whenever she was trying to solve a problem. And he was happy, or as happy as he could be. He had faith in her- she was the brightest kid he knew, after all. Voldemort had a feeling that Mu was enough un-like him that if she really, really needed help and knew it, she'd go to him.

So, they just kind of... pretended it didn't happen. Voldemort wasn't a complete emotionally-stunted idiot, though. He made sure to try and... "be there" for her more- he texted her a lot when he was at work, and every day after school he asked how things were going. She was pretty honest; she'd tell him if it was alright or if she wasn't doing so good, she just wouldn't elaborate on it, and when he awkwardly comforted her on the bad days he didn't make her.

Aside from Mu, things had been going alright. PTA meetings had come and gone, Linda still being a passive-aggressive shitbag, but since only her and like, three others seemed to hate him Voldemort didn't really care too much.

All this ran through Voldemort's mind before he interrupted his thoughts with a big kick against the familiar door to the staff room, sending it flying open with a practiced ruckus. "Hey bitches. So. I'm late. _Buuuuuuut_ I brought coffee."

One of Linda's blonde little friends perked up like a bloodhound at the mention of... blood (whatever, Voldemort wasn't a fucking biologist), or a stay-at-home mom in the possible presence of fresh coffee. "Oooooh, really?"

"Oh, yeah." Voldemort took a big gulp from the cup in his hand before waltzing in. "Fuckin' good shit. You guys should get some. Okay ladies, what we doing?"

"Waiting for you, of course." muttered Linda with a grimace that suggested that that had not been her idea.

"Aaaand makin' plans! Big plans." Suzanne piped up, hazel eyes brighter than normal. Voldemort took a seat at his usual spot beside Lucinda, today deciding to sit on it cross-legged in his daily war against chairs. He leaned back to look over at Suzanne past Lucinda's back, which was currently hunched over the table as she jabbed at her phone with manicured nails. "Care to elaborate?"

"Christmas plans, you silly!" Suzanne giggled, and Voldemort detected a twitch at the end of Lucinda's mouth at the admittedly-adorable noise.

Voldemort blinked. "Halloween was, like, yesterday, Suze."

"It's November 15th." Lucinda said, not looking away.

"Your point?"

Suzanne sighed, but like everything about her it was good-natured. "Well, we have to start planning in advance! Especially considering what we wanna do."

"Well, we can all tell how excited you are, so let's just get started!" Deb announced cheerily as Suzanne blushed and Linda scowled. "What were you thinking, Suzanne?"  


Cheeks still flushed from the sudden attention, Suzanne straightened her back, glancing down towards her notebook on the table. "Okay. So. We can all agree Christmas is the best holiday, right? I mean... the decorations, the snow, the baking, the mistletoe, being with your loved ones..." She sighed dreamily as the other mothers let out similar sounds of agreement. Voldemort just sat there, already beginning to feel the green hair sprouting from his skin. "Um! Also for us as the PTA, of course, because we have sooooo many options. So, I was thinking: A fair, a decorating station, a bake sale, or a sweater day."

"The decorating station would entail what, exactly?" Pamela asked nasally, craning her long neck at Suzanne like an ostrich in an ugly wig.

Suzanne quivered.  A beat passed. And then- "Cards and simple ornaments," It was Lucinda who spoke, glancing away from her phone to look at the anxious Suzanne's notes. "Sounds good." She returned back to her phone. Suzanne breathed in a sigh of relief.

"But wasn't an egg decorating station the plan for Easter?" Helen pointed out.

Deb nodded. "Yes, I believe so... hm, yeah, might be too similar. Sorry, Suzanne!" She smiled sympathetically.

"No worries!" Suzanne said, looking very worried. "Um. What about the rest?"

"I like the sweater thing," Karen spoke up. "But I feel like it's not enough on it's own." Barb nodded in agreement. Linda was furiously scribbling what looked to be jibberish in her notebook. "And considering a lot of kids might not have a Christmas sweater... hm. Maybe we could do it alongside something else?"

"Great idea!" Deb said encouragingly. Somehow, even while being in a room full of moms she managed to be the biggest mom of them all. "Voldemort, what do you think?"

Voldemort was used to just barging in on these conversations, so he took a moment to process someone actually caring about his opinion. "Hell yeah, sounds good, Suze. Maybe we could do a fair or a bake sale with it?"

From the head of the table, Linda opened her shittily-lipsticked mouth and out flew thousands upon thousands of Eldritch demons still carrying with them the scorched, rotting stench only found in the deepest trenches of Hell, each shrieking in an ungodly, high-pitched tone-" **B U T W E J U S T D I D A H A L L O W E E N F A I R**." 

"Thanks, Linda, fair point, so- the bake sale." Voldemort continued.

"I love it!" Deb said enthusiastically. A couple others nodded in agreement. Linda pouted. "And what were you thinking for that, Suzanne?"

* * *

 

A few minutes later, they stopped for a coffee break. Voldemort tossed down the rest in his cup with the skill of a, in his professional opinion, Fuckin' Champ, before speeding over to join the line for the machines. He headed back to his chair, where he sat on it in his usual fashion. Lucinda was beside him. She hadn't left her seat- she was still tapping away at her phone. Voldemort frowned. This wasn't like her. He opened his mouth, hesitantly, unsure of what to say. "Um. All good, Montgomery?"

She didn't look up from her phone. "Yes."

There was an awkward silence. "Um. You're pretty... distracted there."

"I've been listening."

Voldemort considered peering at her phone, but one glance at her nails made him rethink that decision. "You texting your, uh. Uhhhhhhhhh suuuuuuhhhhhhdaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwtsiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssstwait no husbaaaaaaaaaaaand husband? Husband. Yeah."

Lucinda scowled down at her phone, hopefully not in response to Voldemort. "Love is a complicated and complex thing, Riddle, I hardly expect you to understand _anything_ about it."

Voldemort felt his mind flash back to images of tacky kitchens, to uncomfortable cracked leather chairs and mediocre mashed potatoes, beat-up headphones... cataracts flashing like headlights. The stench of booze, one he knew all two well, following oversized flannel shirts like a ghost.

> ' _You think I fucking loved your mom? That fucking pig-faced cunt? Ha! Ever heard of a one night stand, kiddo? I don't think anyone could stand to tap that more than once. Ugh, just thinking of her face, her nose makes me-_ '

"Yeah. I really don't." Voldemort said. "But you should, like, take a break. This is your one opportunity to actually have an excuse to ignore him. You're just feeding into him."

"Don't you ever dare to even _think_ of telling me what I am and what I am not doing," Lucinda said as she turned her phone off and tucked it away in her leather purse. Suzanne came over with two cups of coffee in her hands. As she sat down, she tucked her skirt under her legs and gently slid one of the cups over to Lucinda on the table. "Here, Cindy."

"I don't want your pity coffee," Lucinda grumbled as she took it. 

"I know you don't," Suzanne said kindly.

"I am not going to talk about that- _that_ -"

"You don't have to."

Lucinda closed her eyes, growling to herself. Her hand twitched towards her purse, but stayed put. She opened her steel grey eyes, and Voldemort was alarmed when he saw how glossy they were. She threw back her head and gulped down a couple mouthfuls of coffee.

She waited a few moments. Then, taking in a deep breath, and regarding both Suzanne and Voldemort, she spoke evenly. "You- you both are so lucky. I envy you. You don't know what it's like."

"Don't I?" Suzanne said softly. Voldemort suddenly became very invested in the laces of his boots.

"You've been free for five years."

Suzanne smiled a gentle, barely-there smile. "I think we have different definitions of _free_ , Cindy."

"You have no obligations except to your children. Nobody holding you back. Nobody who can turn you and twist you with just one word. Nobody- _nobody_ -"

"Well, you're right in that I have nobody," Suzanne said. "I have my kids, now. That's it."

Lucinda got this look in her eye, like she was about to say something that she knew might fuck everything up, but hated herself so much right then that she was just going to say it anyways. Voldemort recognised that look with ease, because that was a constant mood of his. " _He wasn't a good man_."

"He wasn't the _best_ man." Suzanne's voice went soft again. She sipped at her coffee daintily. She really didn't look like she was bothered by any of this.

"He hurt you."

"The worst thing he did to me was die. I could've left before, if I wanted to."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Somehow I think you're projecting."

"Alright, ladies! Let's get started!" Linda clapped her hands briskly, looking pleased to have (some) control again. Voldemort nearly jumped out of his pants. As everyone began chattering about the bake sale, he caught Suzanne rubbing Lucinda's upper arm soothingly. And Lucinda let her. Voldemort didn't have to relate to her to recognise that as her apology.

* * *

 

Voldemort welcomed the cold air that blasted him in the face as he pushed open the school doors and strode out. After Lucinda and Suzanne's... whatever that was, they discussed possibly donating all the proceeds of the bake sale to the food bank. But still, things had been tense- everyone could sense something was wrong with Lucinda, but since it was Lucinda they (except for Suzanne) just kind of cowered away from her. It was weirdly tense. Voldemort was looking forward to entering a completely stress-free environment-

" _Oh my goodness gracious_!" Voldemort's thoughts were interrupted as he felt a dull pain in his chest and heard a familiar voice cry out. His eyes closed instinctively, and when he opened them he saw Quirrell, sprawled on the ground in front of him in a cute red sweater with books and papers scattered all around him.

_ Shit. _

For a very scary second Voldemort actually considered just booking it and diving straight through the window of his truck (and maybe tapping that cute little ass along the way), but the last remaining good and rational side of him was like _Hey, don't do that,_ so he decided to act like a normal person for once in his life and help the guy out.

Voldemort knelt down in front of Quirrell and held out a (hopefully not-sweaty hand), offering him a very sexy and debonair smile and also probably a heavy dose of coffee breath. He took a deep breath, preparing his very cool and sexy deep husky voice that'd totally get this twink's ass shaking. " _Need a help_?"

Voldemort felt the sudden urge to eat his own teeth.

Quirrell let out a noise that might've been a giggle and might've been a wheeze, but was definitely so cute it would lead to Voldemort's death someday. "Oh my goodness, i-if you don't mind." 

"Yeah, totes," Voldemort replied lamely, and thinking back on it even if would've had trouble deciphering what that meant. He pulled Quirrell to his feet, relishing in how nice his hand felt in his. He let go of his hand as Quirrell got to his feet, though, because he knew for a damn fact if he hung on for a second longer he'd never let go. Trying to ignore how prettily the other boy's eyes sparkled and how cute his cheeks were when they were all pink, he busied himself with picking up the stuff he had dropped. And, okay, maybe he made sure to stick his ass out slightly more than normal when bending down and point it in Quirrell's direction. Kind of.

Evidently, Quirrell wasn't too starstruck by one of the only attractive things about Voldemort, because within a couple beats of silence he was stuttering away again. "O-oh wow! Oh my goodness, you don't need to do that. I thought you just meant w- w- h- aaaaah, here, let me!" And, much to Voldemort's disappointment, he knelt down across from Voldemort and began scooping his stuff up, his face now no longer across from Voldemort's amazing ass but now his ugly sweaty snake face. Ugh.

There was a lot more stuff than Voldemort had thought, so he shoved some papers in his pockets and scooped some books and the rest of the papers into his arms, so he could hand the stuff in his arms off to Quirrell first and then whatever was in his pockets. _Yeah, good plan, Voldemort!_ He congratulated himself. Maybe he was good enough for Quirrell after all.

"I just," Quirrell panted as he sorted his papers and books and such, "Am s-so sorry. I'm not usually such a klutz. Are you okay?" Then his eyes widened as he surveyed the things in his hands. "Oh my goodness! Some of these books are really heavy and they must've- oh my. That must've hurt, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Are you bruised?"

_HE'S SO FUCKING CU- okay, Voldemort, control yourself._ "Yeah, no worries. Happens all the time, man." He said nonchalantly. _MAN?!_

Quirrell's eyes widened and his brows furrowed. "Because of me, of course." He muttered, head hanging, and fuck he sounded so fucking sad. Voldemort backtracked quickly.

"No no no no no! No way! Some other fella, I swear. Lots of fellas. Dudes. Not just you." He flashed him some finger guns, and because he's Voldemort knocked one into his own throbbing titty. " _Ouch_."

" _Ouch_?" Quirrell repeated, looking panicky, the piles in his arms forgotten. "Oh no, you really _are_ hurt!"

"No I'm not!" Voldemort insisted, despite the pain in his chest. "Okay, look I'll show you-" He shifted all the papers and books over to his left arm, and used his right to yank his shirt up to his chin. "See? Not a scratch!"

It took four seconds for Voldemort's brain to catch up with what he'd done, and a couple longer for Quirrell's mind to do the same. He just stared at Voldemort's completely-naked abdomen, jaw-agape. "Uhhhhhhhhhhh..........."

"Not even a bruise!" Voldemort said.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh............."

"Nary a dent!" Voldemort suddenly became very self-conscious about his nipples. He hadn't glanced at them recently. But Quirrell was probably too preoccupied looking for a mark or something left by the books, the paranoid little cutie.

" _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa well yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII waooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwuh_. Um. Hm." Quirrell's eyes wandered back up to Voldemort's face, apparently done with looking for an injury, but then for some reason flashed back down, but, like, really down. Way past totty level, that was for sure. "That's, um. Um. Hm. I. Well. Aaa."

" _Aaa_?" Voldemort repeated in confusion. 

"Aaa," Quirrell echoed, then shook his head briskly. "Ah, I meant... aaah. _Aaah_ , I _see_."

"You see?"

"I. See. Thank you. You. Let me. See. Um. Hah. Yes. I mean. Um. Though. Just because there's nothing visi-visi-visibibbibbibibibiboobbibl- just because I c-c-c-an see noth-nothing right-right now doesn't m-m-mean there's n-n-n-n-nothing. B-but. I. Trust you. Um. Yes." Quirrell nodded to himself, as if pleased. Voldemort was confused yet enchanted nonetheless. He let go of his shirt and let it fall back down, and could've sworn a pout tugged at Quirrell's lips. He probably was just seeing things though, so he handed Quirrell the stuff that was tucked in his arm.

Quirrell smiled gratefully up at Voldemort, then cleared his throat. "Um. So. PTA meeting?"

"Yep," Voldemort confirmed, stretching out and flexing his sore arm. He winced slightly as he felt a dull pang flash through it, biting his lip. "Yes. Um. How have you been?"

Quirrell's face brightened adorably. "Oh! I'm good! What about you?"

Voldemort nodded, giving a thumbs-up that he immediately regretted. "Alrighty, all-tighty." _What the fuck does that mean Tom?_

There was an awkward silence. The wind ruffled Quirrell's fluffy hair. Voldemort tried to clear his throat quietly, but it was so much louder and grosser than he intended. Some spit might've come out, too. Fuck he hoped not. He tried to distract Quirrell from his awkwardness by asking an awkward question. "Oh! PTA, we're doing a Christmas bakesale on the fifteenth. You coming?"

Quirrell shrugged cutely, glancing down. "Ah, probably not. I don't like big events, or crowds, or people."

Voldemort tried to ignore how that response caused his interest in the event to plummet, like, 80 percent. "Oh." He said, trying not to sound like a total wuss. "That's chill! I kinda gotta go, but I feel you about crowds and shit. I'll probably just bring some stale cookies from Walmart and call it a day and hide in the corner. I don't know how to cook or bake or anything. I don't know how I have a fucking kid." _Ah, yes, woo the love of your life by telling him how fucking INCOMPETENT you are._

Quirrell giggled. "Awww, I'm sure you'll be fine. Just make sure it's chocolate chip and not oatmeal and raisin and I think the kids would still eat them if they were covered in mold." Voldemort chuckled, and then Quirrell bit his lip, glancing down at his wrist. "Um, sorry, but I gotta go..."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. Gross. "Yeah, no problem! Have a good one, okay?" I sound like an old man.  


Quirrell was already striding away with his long legs, and he turned his head over his shoulder to grin magically at Voldemort. "You too! See you there!"

Voldemort took about five minutes to register what the hell had just happened, after staring straight ahead with a dopey grin on his face. He took another two to realize what Quirrell had said- ' _See you there_!'.

And then, one more minute later, when he was sitting in his truck ready to pull out of the parking lot, he cursed. "Oh, shit!" He pulled a handful of papers out of his back pocket, staring at them with a grimace.

... Well.

On the bright side, this certainly gave him an excuse to see Quirrell again soon, right?

 


End file.
